Ascendent Sun, Burning Moon
by Fenrir666
Summary: A penitent demon, offered absolution in a most unexpected form. A Keeper of Fate, who doesn't technically exist. A soul long since damned, striving to bring forth the Darkness. And the one girl, in all the world, who can unite them all in the name of the Dawn. This is their story.
1. Exalted

**A/N: Welcome to this, my newest story. This will take my focus for some time, but I assure readers of my other stories that Sunnydale Chronicles had **_**not**_** been abandoned. It **_**is**_** on indefinite hiatus, but I hope this will prove equally, if not **_**more**_** enjoyable.**

** –L.A., 1994–**

** She ran through the burning building, choking on the thick black clouds of smoke. Her eyes itched as the heat evaporated the moisture on them. Her vision swam and her head grew light. She could hear the screams of the monsters that she had trapped in the gymnasium, the ones that had killed her friend, that had tried to kill her sister. She could hear crashing sounds as the roof fell down in places. She could hear voices calling her, but none made sense. She heard her sister crying, coughing as she pulled her along, refusing to let go of the eight-year old's hand. She stumbled as a sudden burning pain struck her shoulder, driving her to her knees, heard a young girl screaming, tried to cry out, but could only whimper in pain. A voice in the distance, calling out her name. She tried to peer through the smoke, and saw big men in heavy clothing and masks running towards her, stopping as a massive chunk of burning roof fell in front of them. Her sister screamed again, and another crash and something hit her in the back, pinning her to the ground. Pain blazed, and she realized that she could smell herself burning. She tried to struggle, but she couldn't feel her legs. Her vision grew darker, and the screams and cried grew more distant. Her eyes closed, and she realized that she was going to die.**

_**Not today.**_

_** I see your power, your compassion, your conviction and your valor.**_

_** I see what you can do, if only you had the power.**_

_** I see the power fated for you, and reject such atrocity.**_

_** I see the misery it will bring you, and I cannot abide it.**_

_** You are destined for great things, and it is only right that you be given great power.**_

_** But one so young should not be so burdened.**_

_** I see the pain you suffer, and I know that I must act.**_

_** Rise, Young One. I see your soul, and I remember what hopes I once had.**_

_** Rise, my Child. Greet the new Dawn.**_

_** Rise, Lawgiver. Restore what was shattered so long ago.**_

_** Rise, Lightbringer. Dispel the clouds that gather over Creation.**_

_** Rise, Buffy Summers. For you are Exalted!**_

** Her eyes shot open, and strength surged through her body. The pain was gone, and she could feel her legs again. She stood up, and the burning roof simply fell away from her. She turned and picked up the child behind her as though the girl weighed no more heavily than a kitten. She walked through the burning flames, and neither she nor the child were hurt. The firemen before her watched with shock as she walked past them and towards the broken doors that were once the east exit for the school. She walked out into the cool evening air, and the crowd that had gathered outside the school watched in stunned awe. She walked to her tearful mother and handed the child over. It was only then that she saw her reflection in a nearby window.**

** She was shining as bright as the new day, a brilliant golden glow coming from her skin. A golden circle ringed with dashes aimed outwards formed the image of a bursting star upon her brow. Her long golden hair flowed down past her shoulders, perfect despite the flames that had just moments ago been eating it away. Her skin was a perfect golden tan, unmarred by the fire that had nearly claimed her life. She turned her gaze from her image and saw her sister sobbing hysterically in the arms of her mother, who was staring at Buffy in shocked disbelief. Buffy knew that she should say something, anything, but- **

**–1 Year Prior–**

"Enough," a crisp, authoritative voice spoke, and three pairs of eyes snapped open at once. As the first stood up from his meditative pose, shadows obscuring his face, his fellows looked to the him, the one who had spoken, in silent question.

"I've found her," the man confirmed, "But there is going to be a...complication."

"What do you mean?" one of his colleagues asked, standing up. In the dim, candle-lit room, it was hard enough to see what the man looked like, but even in daylight one wouldn't see much. Than man was completely and utterly forgettable. Eyes simply passed over the man's face, writing him out of memory as soon as he was seen. The man in the shadows sighed in response to the query.

"She is not the Chosen One," he answered irritably.

"Impossible, all the signs point towards-" the second responded, before being cut off by the first.

"She should have been, but something intervened," the first explained, "One year and one day from today, she will Exalt. As a Solar, apparently."

The second was silent a moment. Then-

"Are you sure?" he asked, disheartened and disturbed. All of the prophecies pointed towards this girl. No other potentials fit. If they were forced to move against her-

"I saw it from her eyes," the first answered wearily, "There can be no mistake. She is not the next Slayer."

"What do we do then?" The second asked. The first turned his gaze towards the so-far silent third.

"What do you think?" he asked, meeting the third's blank gaze. The third man was as forgettable as the first and second, with no appearance to call his own. After a moments pause, he spoke.

"I think that she is definitely the one you're looking for," came the reply, "The Prophecies are very clear on that. There is no other living human girl that matches the criteria."

"How do you explain the Solar Exaltation?" the second half-asked, half-demanded. The third turned a blank gaze on the second.

"Solar Exaltations are not inherently evil," the third lectured, much like a teacher to a student who has asked the same question several times and gotten the same answer each time, "They are inclined towards evil acts, certainly, but good Solars have existed," a pause, a thoughtful look, "Perhaps I should rephrase: Solars have existed which could control their natural inclination towards corruption and chaos. Indeed, I have uncovered ancient lore that refers to them as "Lawgivers", which implies to me that they were not always the monsters that they became-"

"What should we do about this?" the first interrupted, clearly irritated by the lecture. The third didn't react to the outburst.

"I would advise that we proceed with open minds and guarded souls. This girl is the one from the prophecy, so killing her should be a last resort only. We should attempt a meeting shortly after her Exaltation. She will likely be confused, and having someone there to explain things should help immensely with the prevention of a god-complex."

The first nodded approvingly.

"Very well, then. The task is yours. I trust you have a persona to fit?"

The third smiled and bowed. As he stood, he was suddenly recognizable. Lines of age had just begun to crease his face, and intelligent green eyes, flecked with hazel, looked out from behind bookish, circular glasses. On his head dark brown hair was combed smoothly and professionally, and a gray tweed jacket and pants, perfectly clean and free of creases, adorned his figure, all together creating a very respectable image.

"Hello," he said in a very well-educated British accent, "Rupert Giles, Librarian and Scholar. It's a pleasure to meet you."

–**1902, New York, 5:25 A.M.–**

** He sat atop one of the larger buildings, staring out at the horizon, willing the sun to come ****sooner. A bitter smile graced his lips. He'd spent the better part of a century and a half in the darkness, reveling in it. And now he couldn't stand to wait half an hour for one last glimpse of ****the dawn.**

** Pain gnawed at his insides, but he ignored it. Pain was his art. Inflicting it, mostly, but there was little he could not endure.**

___A man's face, contorted with agony as this fresh hell was unleashed upon him._

__**He closed his eyes, willing the tears not to come. Pain he could ignore, but not this. Not the guilt, the endless remorse, reliving his past, seeing the faces of his thousands of victims everywhere he went. This was the one thing he could not endure any longer. Four long years of this hell. But it was no less than he deserved. He could still remember what had brought him here...**

_A young woman's broken, naked form, unmoving but still alive. Soft prayers and pleas for deliverance were all that left her lips, even as he placed the glowing brand upon her back. The last week had broken her. Without the thrill of a response, he was bored. A smile worked its way onto his face, cold and pitiless as the blackest depths of space. Perhaps it was time to take her home..._

**The young woman, kind, intelligent, chaste and beautiful. Everything he had despised. He had taken a special interest in her, in breaking her completely, for the sole crime of being what he wasn't, what he had never been: pure.**

** A muffled cry escaped him, and he covered his face in his hands as his composure broke. Sobs wracked his body as he cried. He couldn't believe everything that had happened. All the pain, the suffering, he grief and misery he had caused. He deserved to die.**

_The face of everyone you have killed-our daughter's face-will haunt you, and you will know true suffering!_

__**The gypsy's voice echoed in his mind, and he looked up at the horizon. Light could be seen beyond the clouds. Dawn would be coming soon. Dawn, and a merciful release from his ****torment.**

_Please, have mercy, take me, leave her, take me instead!_

__**He closed his eyes, willing the voices away, and knowing that they would remain with him forever. His resolve to wait on the rooftop began to waver. He yearned for the mercy that the sun's light promised him, but he knew that he couldn't take it. He was beyond mercy, beyond redemption. He didn't deserve to die; death was too good for him. He deserved to serve out his punishment: An eternity of guilt, of remorse. An eternity of penance, because he could never do enough good to outweigh the suffering that he had caused.**

** With a sigh he stood up to leave. He would live, and he would suffer. It was only right that he take his punishment. With all the evil he had done, he couldn't help but take the opportunity to do at least one good thing, no matter the pain.**

_**"An admirable sentiment," **_**spoke a soft, beautiful voice. He spun around, turning to face the newcomer. A beautiful woman walked towards him, illuminating the rooftop in a silvery glow. Her skin was pale and perfect, and for a moment he thought her naked, before realizing that she lacked any features beyond shape and pure, silvery light.**

_**"I see your pain," **_**she whispered softly, and a powerful echo of her words rang within his mind, **_**"And I see the pain you have left behind you. But I also feel your power. You are a warrior, a champion. Your death here would be a waste, and you know this."**_

__**A silver hand reached out and cupped his cheek.**

_**"It takes a rare being indeed to endure what you have, and a rarer one to turn down peace in favor of continued battle," **_**at this point the featureless face seemed to smile, **_**"We are alike, you and I. We cannot give in, cannot surrender, no matter the cost, no matter the pain we must endure. You fight a war within yourself, a war for your very soul, and it will consume you. One day, redemption might find you, but that day will be a long time in coming. Decades of hardship and loneliness await you, but you will endure, because you know that you must."**_

** He looked at the woman in brief hope at the mention of redemption, before coming to his senses.**

** "I think you have the wrong person," he said quietly, "No redemption awaits me."**

_**"You are wrong, Child," **_**the woman said softly, **_**"Redemption is possible, but the path before you is a wasteful one. Almost a century of penance before the opportunity is granted. I have seen your fate, and I want to change it. You are a champion, and your redemption should be worthy of you. I will break your curse, and I will show you the path to true redemption. It is one paved with struggle, but you will persevere, because it is what you do. Temptation will lurk around all corners, but fortitude will deny The Shadow Of All Things his final victory. Those that seek to destroy you will see your bravery, and they will fear you. Your enemies will try to break you, but you know what is right, and that knowledge will see you through. Your inner darkness will try to corrupt you, but your concern for the innocent will be your shield. I have seen your Fate, my Child, and you are **__**my**__** child now, and the world will remember you long after your passing."**_

__**A brilliant light burst on the rooftop, bright and white as the full moon itself, and he felt power coursing within him. The demon that raged within its confines screamed as the power scoured his soul clean, and he felt reborn. A bright silver disk shone on his forehead, and he knew now what needed to be done.**

_**"Go forth, Steward, and protect this world. Guard it from that which would destroy it, and keep it safe until its true masters return. Defend this forsaken world, and remind they who have forgotten me of my presence!"**_

_** "Go forth, Warrior of Luna, and know that from this moment forward you-" and here the light blazed brighter than he would have thought possible, and for the first time he could see eyes on the woman's featureless face, blazing balls of molten silver that seemed to stare into his very being and fill him with strength-**_

_** "Are Exalted!"**_

** –End Chapter–**

I hope this sets the scene for what is to come. I know questions abound, but rest assured that everything will be explained. Please review, and tell me what you think, and I promise that Chapter One will be coming soon.


	2. Welcome to the Hellmouth

**A/N: No, I didn't forget Jesse. Jesse doesn't exist here.**

**–Sunnydale High, 1995–**

_"Beta One, this is Beta Three. No contact, but tracks are found. One male, adult or large teen, one female, small. Vampire presence confirmed, tracks leading towards your position. Acknowledge."_

A dark armored man stood near the edge of the high-school, shrouded in shadows. The moon was obscured by the clouds above, which is why he wore night-vision goggles. Their enemies could see with perfect clarity in the night, and this put them at a disadvantage. As he reached up to his ear to activate his mike, he noticed footsteps, illuminated as mist by the mildly magical goggles, leading towards the back end of the school, by the football field.

_"Beta Three, this is Beta One. I hear you and acknowledge," _he sub-vocalized, making the barest of vibrations in his throat vibrations which transferred into words on the other end of the connection, _"Confirmed footsteps, going from current position, heading towards rear end of school, by the field. Acknowledge."_

A pause as he waited for a response. A chill ran through him.

_"Beta Three, this is Beta One. Acknowledge." _

_"Beta One, this is Beta Five. I'm by Beta Three. Neck snapped, no life-signs. Acknowledge."_

"Shit," he muttered, and turned around carefully, making sure nothing was sneaking up on him.

_"Beta Five, this is Beta One. I hear you and acknowledge. I'm going to follow the tracks, Beta Four, back on Beta Five. Beta Two, with me. Acknowledge."_

_ "Beta One, this is Beta Four, moving towards Beta Five."_

_ "Beta One, this is Beta Five, I see Beta Four."_

_ "Beta One, this is Beta Two. I'm in the school, a window facing the field was broken. There's a __dead kid, male teen, in the class room. Dual neck punctures over the carotid artery __**oh fuck!"**_

He flinched as the shouted expletive pierced his ears along side a roar in the background and a crackle of lightning.

_"Beta Two, I'm coming to your position, hold on!"_

"Too late, sweetie," a smooth female voice purred behind him, even as he felt the cold chill of soul-steel sliding through his armor as though it weren't there, as strong fingers tore away his neck guard and sharp fangs pierced his throat, and the sounds of distant fighting told him his friend's might at least-

**–Two Days Later–**

The first Monday of the school year was bright and sunny and _noisy._ A massive crowd of teenagers milled around the entrance as they waited for first period to begin. To the untrained eye, it might look as though there was no rhyme or reason to the arrangement of the teens, but the pair of eyes watching from the SUV that was rolling up to the curb in front of the school were far from untrained. Green iris surrounding black pupils expanding and contracting minutely as the girl in the passenger's seat of the SUV observed her new peers. The crowd was large, but separated into chunks, which separated into yet small cells. The chunk closest to the school were well dressed and groomed, not fancily so, but in the way one does when going somewhere that they respect, and wish to show respect to. Farther away and by a bunch of bushes in a raised stone garden in the middle of the path up to the entrance sat a group of males and a few females, all dressed casually, talking with each other while maintaining relaxed posture, in the manner of one without care, of one who is somewhere that they don't mind being, where they don't need to struggle or put up appearances. Further across and to the west of the casual teens was a smaller clique of very well-dressed teens talking animatedly, even as their posture suggested some amount of stress and falseness, as though putting on a fake outer personality. Their clothes were perfectly unwrinkled and clean, and were clearly uniforms of some sort, with the SH sign of the school marking their chests and backs. After these three groups were observed, the rest became irrelevant. The inference was taken, and conclusions reached. This was a very hierarchical school. Everyone had their place, everyone had their groups, and one didn't leave that niche for fear of social repercussions.

All of these observations were made almost unconsciously within the mere seconds it took for the SUV to come to a full stop and her mother to open her mouth to begin speaking.

"Alright honey, this is your stop," her mother smiled. The girl in the car turned around with a dazzling smile.

"Thanks for the ride, mom," she said in a bright, cheerful voice that couldn't help but widen her mother's smile.

"No problem, sweetie, and I _know_ you'll do great. Make lots of friends!"

The last was said as the girl opened the door and got out of the car. She turned back with small but still infectious smile.

"Don't worry, I will," she promised, and with that her mother waved goodbye and drove away. The girl turned towards her new school and began assessing where she would best belong.

Meanwhile, heads turned towards this new arrival, and mouths began to drop as she walked up to the school. All eyes were upon her, watching in awe and she smiled a happy little smile. Without knowing why, she felt like everything was just as it should be. Her mood didn't even break when movement in her peripheral vision and a shouted warning had her arm snap out almost of its own accord and catch a young teen by the scruff of his collar just before he would have crashed into the railing in front of her.

**–Xander–**

"Whoa, pardon me, coming through, no breaks, can't stop!" a young dark haired teen spoke quickly as he focused his attention of weaving through the crowds. Perhaps riding a skateboard up to the school wasn't his brightest idea, but he _did_ enjoy the looks he was getting. He leaned to the right as he narrowly avoided running someone down, and an upraised middle finger returned his hastily shouted apology. Shrugging it off, he swerved to the left to avoid some person standing in the walkway staring at something ahead. Xander followed his gaze, and saw the single most beautiful girl he'd ever laid eyes on. To describe the girl as 'stunning' would be a grievous understatement. The girl's long, dark blond hair reached down to the middle of her shoulders and shone like gold in the morning sun. Her sun-kissed golden tan almost seemed to glow with inner energy as she walked. Her skin was smooth and perfect behind the tan, no freckle or mole detracted from her looks, and no acne blemishes marked her features. Her physique was slim without being unhealthy, with just the right amount of developing curves for her age. A sky-blue top complemented the tan skin, and was just tight enough to show off her form without actually revealing anything, with a matching skirt that managed to show off just enough of her legs to attract positive attention without drawing enough to be improper.

He was so focused on her that he didn't even notice the railing coming up in front of him. A shout yelled out behind him as he rolled closer to the girl, and then, with speed and perfect grace her arm shot out and caught him by the collar and her other arm caught him around the back and stopped him from falling as his skateboard rolled out from under him and continued on under the metal rail. He stumbled for a moment as she let go of him, and then turn to meet the most enchanting pair of green eyes he'd ever seen. A small frown quirked her perfect lips, and Xander was instantly self-conscious. Was his hair alright? Did he have something in his teeth? _Oh God was his zipper up?!_

"Are you alright?" she asked with a soft, warm voice, and he nearly collapsed in relief as he realized that she was just concerned.

"Um, yeah, I'm good, I mean, I'm well, good is a moral thing, but well is when you're good, but in a not-hurt way," Xander responded, words pouring out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying. At her bemused expression, he tried to clarify.

"Not that I'm not good morally!" he exclaimed, "I'm a very moral person, I never go past first date on the first base, I mean birst fase on the dirst fate, I mean I'm Xander, thanks for saving my life," he finished lamely, burning with embarrassment as he saw her smile as she clearly tried not to laugh.

"You're welcome," she said politely, and he wanted to crawl into a corner and die as he heard the suppressed chuckle in her voice, "I'm Buffy Summers, it's nice to meet you Xander, but if you're alright, I've got to go meet with the principal. Have a nice day!"

The last was said with a wave back as she walked away towards the school, and Xander just wanted to kick himself.

"Whoa momma, who was _that?_" came an impressed voice beside him, and he shot a look to his left and saw a young, red-haired girl wearing a plaid skirt and a plaid shirt over a white top with perfectly, carefully groomed hair that reached her shoulders, in a distinctly 'good-girl' vibe sort of way. As Xander's head snapped towards her, a look of 'I-can't-believe-I-just-heard-what-I-just-heard' on his face, the girl made a small 'eep!' noise and covered her mouth, blushing fiercely.

"Um-I just-I didn't mean-I'm not-" Willow began frantically, before Xander shushed her.

"Don't worry," he said wryly, "You're not the only one. She saved me from crashing into a railing and I assured her that I totally wouldn't do anything more than feel her up on out first date."

"What?" she exclaimed in amused shock.

"Yeah, yeah," Xander sighed with mock exasperation, "Laugh it up."

–**Buffy–**

"Well, we've covered your transcripts, your grades have been good, exceptional behavior, and may I say that I'm honored to have a hero on our campus," said the slightly tubby, dark haired man sitting behind the desk in front of her as he smiled kindly at the young girl before him. She smiled politely in return.

"Thank you, Principal Flutie-" she began, but the Principal cut her off.

"Please, all students here are welcome to call me Bob," he informed her genially. Buffy nodded.

"Alright, thank you, Bob," she smiled, and Robert Flutie opened his mouth to correct her but shut it instantly. He couldn't bring himself to reprimand the enthusiastic teen before him. It was so rare he met children as polite and respectful as her, as well as so gifted academically, and if taking things too literally was a flaw of hers, then he supposed he could allow her that.

"Anyways," she continued, "I just wanted to say that I'm grateful for meeting me like this and helping me get my I.D. and schedule. I'm sure I'll love it here."

Principal Flutie's body language shifted noticeably, and in the back of her mind she knew that she'd made an ally at this school. His entire body was showing mixed appreciation and positive disposition towards her. In the front of her mind, she was glad that she would be able to count on her Principal if she needed any help.

"You're quite welcome, young lady, and I think you'll settle in just fine," he said with a smile. Just then, the bell rang and the teen in front of him grabbed her bag as she stood from her chair.

"Thanks again for your help," she called as she exited his office, closing the door behind her. Principal Robert Flutie stared at the door for a moment more, a small smile on his face, before his attention returned to the paperwork on his desk. Such a nice girl, he thought to himself.

**–Xander–**

Xander was not-quite-running through the hallway as he moved towards his class when he saw a flash of gold coming out of the Principal's office. It was her, the girl from earlier! He also saw the student walking quickly towards her while adjusting their book-bag over their shoulder, not looking where he was heading. Xander opened his mouth to shout a warning, but was too late. Buffy absently side-stepped the oncoming student without even glancing at him and was walking away before he could get her attention. Xander sighed. It was probably for the best, he'd have probably just creeped her out again.

**–Buffy–**

** "**It's estimated that about 25 million people died in that one four year span. But the fun part of the Black Plague is that it originated in Europe how? As an early form of germ warfare. The plague was first found in Asia, and a Kipchak army actually catapulted plague-infested corpses into a Genoese trading post. Ingenious. If you look at the map on page 63 you can trace the spread of the disease…"

Buffy looked around her as she saw her fellow students opening their textbooks, and realized that she had yet to get hers. She was about to raise her hand when a whisper caught her attention.

_"Psst!"_ the dark-haired girl in the expensive looking outfit next to her beckoned her as she turned her own textbook so that Buffy could read it. Buffy gave her a grateful smile and a whispered _"Thanks!"_ and turned her attention back to the lecture.

At the end of the class the dark-haired girl followed Buffy out the door and walked with her.

"Hi, I'm Cordelia," she introduced with a smile, which Buffy returned.

"I'm Buffy," she replied, "Thanks again for sharing your book."

"No problem," Cordelia responded, "If you still need your textbooks, there should still be some in the library."

"Could you show me where that is? I still don't quite know my way around," Buffy asked, unconsciously inflicting her voice with a slightly nervous tone, expressing lack of knowledge, but not fault.

"No problem," Cordelia shrugged, "It's on the way to my next class, anyway. So, I hear you transferred from Hemery, in L.A.?"

"Yep," Buffy nodded.

"Oh, I would _kill_ to live in L.A.," Cordelia exclaimed enviously, "Being that close to that many shoes...Why would you leave?"

"The fame got to be a bit much, especially when Lifetime started bugging us about movie rights," Buffy responded nonchalantly. Cordelia laughed, before she saw the grin on Buffy's face. Her mouth dropped.

"You're kidding!" she gasped. Buffy laughed in remembered exasperation.

"I really, really wish that I wasn't."

Cordelia frowned, as something nagged at the back of her mind. Then, it hit her.

"Ohmigod you're the girl on the news!" she nearly shouted, "You ran into a burning building to save your sister and nearly died!"

Buffy nodded with a reluctant grin.

"Really, it was way more dramatic than they made it out to be," she said with modesty, wondering if Cordelia would catch the wording in the sentence.

"Don't be so modest, even _I_ would be hard pressed to rush into a burning building and not even dirty my clothes!"

Perhaps not, Buffy thought with slight amusement. Outwardly, she just smiled.

"Well, you'll be fine here, so long as you hang with me and mine. Of course, I'll have to test your coolness factor, but in light of your heroism, I think I'll let you skip the written portion. So, purple blush?"

"Out," Buffy answered instantly.

Cordelia nodded.

"Over the fence and beyond the park," she agreed, "Tom Cruise?"

"Hottest thing since the Uncon-since the sun," Buffy quickly self-corrected. Cordelia didn't appear to care.

"Agreed," she nodded, "Tartan skirts?"

"_So_ 1990," Buffy responded. Cordelia clapped her hands with a smile.

"Congratulations, you pass!"

"Oh, good!" Buffy answered with a bright smile of her own. They approached the water fountain where a girl in one of the most nerdy-yet-endearing dresses Buffy had ever seen was drinking.

"Willow!" Cordelia exclaimed, "Nice dress, I'm glad to see you've finally started clearing out your grandmother's attic!"

Willow's head turned to Cordelia with an embarrassed look, while Buffy's snapped around, her mouth dropping at the sudden viciousness.

"Well, my mom picked it out," Willow said, almost apologetically. Anger welled up in Buffy, and before Cordelia could give her next cutting response, even as several other kids nearby were laughing, she interjected.

"Wait, is your mom part of the L.A. fashion circle?" Buffy asked, inflicting her voice with apparently-genuine surprise, "I didn't think Sunnydale was so up on the latest fashions. Cordelia turned in puzzlement, while Willow just stared in confusion, unsure of whether or not she was being mocked.

"Um, no," she responded hesitantly, "She doesn't really pay attention to that stuff."

"Huh," Buffy frowned, "I guess she's just naturally talented. The withdrawn-but-proper look in the big thing in L.A. right now. It gets you in good with the teachers, and it's just adorable if you can pull it off. I never could, sadly, but you wear it perfectly. How do you keep the outfit so free of wrinkles?"

"Um, I don't know?" Willow hazarded. She was officially out of her comfort zone.

"Well, I've got to go get my books, but we've _got_ to talk style later," Buffy said with a smile, "I've got some awesome ideas for your hair, and you can give me some tips on keeping clothes from getting wrinkled without losing an hour with an iron."

With that, Buffy walked off and several other students, following the leader as all pack animals do, and approached Willow to compliment her on her newfound fashion sense and ask for tips. Cordelia stood staring in open-mouthed shock for several more seconds before running off to catch up with Buffy.

_"What the hell was that?"_ she demanded as she caught up with the blond around the next corner.

"Funny," Buffy stopped and turned to face Cordelia, her face set in condemning anger, "I was about to ask you the same thing. Why would you do something like that? It's just cruel!"

Cordelia was flabbergasted. "Something like what?!" she exclaimed.

"That girl, Willow, was just minding her own business, getting a drink, and you just publicly humiliate her! Sure, her clothes aren't picture-perfect out of the latest edition of _Seventeen,_ but that doesn't mean you get to just do whatever you want to her!" Buffy practically hissed at Cordelia, who suddenly felt extremely small and vulnerable.

"I-I didn't-" she started, but Buffy cut her off.

"You didn't _what?"_ she asked icily, "You didn't mean anything by it? You were just kidding around? Willow was_ hurt,_ Cordelia, and embarrassed, and she was about one step short of _scared_ of you!"

Cordelia felt a mixture of fear and shame welling up within her. She honestly had never considered it from the point-of-view that Willow was another person that same as her. But if Willow was feeling then half of what Cordelia was feeling now, faced with the terrifying girl in front of her, Cordelia was honestly remorseful.

"I-I'm sorry-" she tried, and Buffy turned and walked away.

"Don't apologize to _me,_ you've been nothing but nice to the pretty, well-dressed new girl. Apologize to the nerdy, awkward classmate that you've been bullying for God-knows-how-long."

Cordelia didn't say anything, and a moment later Buffy had turned a corner and was gone. Something snapped back into place inside of Cordelia, and she nearly choked on her own spit as she realized that she had just _apologized_ for making fun of _Willow._

**–Buffy–**

Buffy strode into the library, still annoyed at the callousness of her fellow teenagers. At least she'd solved Willow's issues. Buffy knew from experience that one she established something or someone, it _stayed_ established. Willow should be known as an instinctive fashion genius for the next few months, at least. Buffy would work out what to do after it became clear that she was full of crap later. With a sigh, she took a few moments to examine her surroundings. The library was elegant, in a quiet, stuffy sort of way. Sunlight streamed through the room in beams, softly illuminating the shelves and shelves of books. The librarian was nowhere to be seen, which meant that something deadly was going to be thrown right about-

Her hand shot out and caught the throwing knife hurtling towards the right side of her head, near the check-out desk, by the tip of the blade and promptly threw it at a book sitting on the mahogany table in the middle of the library. A hand shot up from the hole in the center of a bagel on the table and caught the knife. Buffy blinked and then nearly jumped out of her skin as someone gently coughed behind her. She spun around, glaring at the source of her surprise.

She met the dark eyes of a well-dressed gentleman in a tweed vest. Round glasses covered his eyes, and the barest hint of crows feet were forming at the corners of his eyes. His stood in perfect stillness, a twitch at the corners of his lips the only sign of his amusement. She pouted unhappily at him.

"That wasn't nice, Giles" she said, "If I can't teleport, neither can you." The object of her ire, Rupert Giles, sighed.

"Buffy," he said in clear exasperation, a well-educated and oh-so-very-_British_ accent in his words, "We've been over this. I didn't _teleport-_"

Buffy shrugged uncaring and walked over to dump her books of the large table.

"Same diff," she said casually, and tried to suppress a smile at the annoyance on the man's face. Giles was always so easy to tease.

With a sigh, he dismissed the issue, and walked over to the check-out counter and picked up a stack of heavy textbooks in one hand. Buffy showed no surprise at this display of unexpected strength.

"And speaking of not nice," he continued, "what have I told you about throwing deadly weapons at books?"

"What have I told _you _about throwing deadly weapons at my _head?"_ Buffy returned pointedly. She blinked, and jumped again as someone tapped her on the shoulder.

"Your head can be repaired," Giles smiled smugly as Buffy turned to face him, then back around where he'd been a mere second before, and back to where he stood, hand outstretched, offering her her textbooks, "Less so with ancient, priceless texts dating from before the Great Contagion."

Buffy rolled her eyes.

"Alright, alright, fine," Buffy huffed, "The important thing is that you caught it."

"I am curious, however," Giles began as she took the textbooks from him and shoved them in her bag, impressed curiosity in his tone, "How did you know I was by the table? The knife came from across the room and on the opposite side from the part of the table I was on."

Buffy smiled sweetly at him, and Giles wasn't fooled for a second.

"Last week, when I brought donuts to training, you went on and on about how we American's ruin breakfast pastries by punching holes in them. So why would there be a bagel in your library?"

Giles closed his eyes as he realized that he continued to _far_ underestimate his pupil's perceptive ability.

"So," Buffy continued, smugness evident in her voice, "I came to the conclusion that the only reason that you'd have a bagel in your library was because you can't hide in a scone!"

Buffy was very proud when she heard Giles suddenly make a choking noise. She would have been prouder, and somewhat surprised, if she'd known that it Giles was choking on his own laughter, rather than surprise at her conclusion.

"Very-" he began, and adjusted his glasses as he took a subtle breath, "Very astute, Buffy. You're learning quickly. On that note, I'd like you to come by after school today. I have some things I need to discuss with you. In any case, though, you should probably get to class. The bell is going to ring-"

A high-pitched series of rings echoed throughout the school.

"Two seconds ago," Giles finished, but Buffy was already walking out, shouting her thanks behind her.

"Very smooth, Rupert," a voice echoed from the shadows behind him. Giles said nothing.

"She's in danger," the voice continued.

"She's a Solar Exalted," Giles said shortly, "She's always in danger."

"He's an Exalt killer. He killed the Zenith, he killed the Eclipse, and he killed the last Dawn not a year ago. He'll come for her, and soon. The Broken Mask can only shroud her so much. Here, so close to the Gate of Malfeas, he'll hear about her. Let me help."

_"For the last time, no!"_ Giles nearly shouted, anger contorting his voice into something that would cow all but the bravest of men, "This _isn't_ about him, this _isn't_ about you, and this _isn't the time or the place for this discussion!_ Leave, _now._"

Silence.

"Her death be on your head then, _Ripper._"

Nothing changed, at least nothing obvious, but an aura of almost imperceptible doom suddenly lessened, and Giles let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. He wholeheartedly disliked that man...

**–Willow–**

Willow Rosenberg sat on a stone bench by her favorite wall, out of the way of the rest of the kids on lunch break. She liked it here, it was nice and shady, and people didn't tend to make her leave, like they did at the main lunch tables. As she prepared to bite into her sandwich, a glint of gold caught her eye, and she saw the girl from earlier approaching. Willow's heart sunk. She was fairly certain that the girl had been mocking her earlier, and was just more subtle about it than Cordelia usually was. Willow half-hoped she wasn't coming to correct that. It was kind of nice being complimented on her fashion sense, even if it was non-existent.

As she approached, the girl spoke.

"Hey, you're Willow, right?" she said, the question in her tone somehow giving a sense of confident power. Willow felt strangely proud to be addressed by this beautiful girl, as though merely being acknowledged was a great privilege. In the back of her mind, Willow recognized that in the eyes of this girl and Cordelia, it probably _was._

"Why? I-I mean, hi, hi, do you need me to move?" she stammered out, and suddenly empathized with Xander. Something about this girl made you crave her attention, her praise, her respect, or at least her lack of animosity.

The girl looked at her with something between amusement and...pity? Willow felt suddenly ashamed and worthless, but at the same time a burst of happiness ran through her. This girl didn't hate her!

"How about we start with, 'hi, I'm Buffy," and then segue straight into an apology," Buffy said as she said next to Willow, and Willow felt heat rising in her face, suddenly feeling extremely awkward so close to the girl-to Buffy.

"An-an apology?" Willow's eyes widened in sudden horror as Buffy's words reached her brain. She'd done something to offend her!

"Of course," she blurted out, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you!"

Buffy's eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed in sudden anger, and finally softened into something Willow couldn't quite place.

"Willow, what I meant was that _I_ owe you an apology. I was trying to cover for you earlier, and it occurred to be a bit ago that I might have embarrassed you even more. I'd also apologize on behalf of Cordelia, but she'd probably be a snobby bitch about it, so I won't."

Willow's eyes widened as her considerable intelligence fought to keep up with the conversation, but the sheer presence and charisma of the girl beside her made futile any efforts by her brain to come up with anything more sophisticated than 'She's pretty, say something **WORSHIP HER!**'

Willow blinked as the last thought blazed across her mind with all the subtlety of a divine command, and she realized that Buffy was waiting for a response, so she decided to devote the effort to be concerned about that later.

"Um, I thought you were friend's with Cordelia?" Willow said hesitantly, years of conditioning waiting for the the inevitable other foot of "Psych, loser!" and pig's blood to fall. Willow suddenly really wished she had listened to her mother about not reading horror books in elementary school as old nightmares rushed back at her.

Instead, Buffy's face hardened into something almost scary. A chill ran down her spine at the coldness on the beautiful blond's face, and she removed the almost from her previous thought.

"I don't make friends with bullies," Buffy said hardly, her voice set in stone, and Willow instantly accepted the _absolute truth_ of that statement. All questions about this girl's intentions left her mind. She was now utterly convinced that Buffy was honestly trying to help her, and though she didn't know why, Willow was suddenly filled with a burning desire to prove worthy of that help.

"Oh, good," she said weakly, and mentally kicked herself for her cowardice. Buffy seemed to notice, and smiled with a brilliant confidence at Willow, and Willow felt all doubts rush away. Buffy believed in her worth, and Willow would never defy Buffy's beliefs. Buffy's beliefs were her beliefs, and it didn't even occur to Willow that this would normally be considered alarming, given that they hadn't even known each other for twenty-four hours.

"Relax, Willow," she reassured, and Willow obeyed, unconsciously loosening tensed muscles. Just then, a new voice interrupted, and Willow followed Buffy's gaze to see the source of the greeting.

"Hey, am I interrupting?" came Xander's easy voice as he approached from behind them, "Can I interrupt?"

"Sure," Buffy chirped happily, and it _was_ a chirp, a quick, happy response, completely carefree. Willow found it adorable. All of Xander's normally held cool vanished as Buffy's gaze fell on him. Willow rushed to Xander's aid as she realized it was her job to introduce him.

"Buffy, this is Xander, Xander, this is Buffy, we were just talking about stuff," Willow blurted out happily, unaware that her tone was filled with the dull sort of giddiness that is normally formed of either sex or booze. It wasn't something she tended to know about.

"We met this morning, but it's good to see you again, Xander," Buffy said with a pleasant smile and nearly caused Xander to lose balance.

Xander tried to recompose himself, and with great effort managed to repress the sudden desire to bow at Buffy's feet.

"Well to see you too," he tried to joke, and at her non-comprehending smile, barely managed to avoid rushing to remind her of his earlier idiocy.

"Never mind," he said quickly, "What're you guys talking about?"  
"Cordelia being a bitch," Buffy shrugged. Xander nodded sagely.

"A popular topic among our two-person group. I'm actually deputy-chairman, chief-treasurer, and secretary for the 'We Hate Cordelia" club. Willow holds pretty much all of the other ranks. We have an opening for a deputy-deputy-chairwomen, if you'd like to join?" Xander offered, inwardly relieved that he was getting back on a roll of successful jokes.

"Why not?" Buffy said with an amused smile, "Are there any oaths? Do I need to pay dues?"

"Nope, no oaths," Xander says, "And a date would more than cover any dues," '_Oh, so close!'_ he though to himself as he cringed. He didn't even _feel_ that particular faux-pas coming on. Usually there was _some_ clue...

Instead of the laughter or scorn he usually got, though, he was shocked to see something like appraisal.

"Delivery needs work," she said, "And I'm gonna be honest, Xander, girls generally don't like being asked out like its a joke. Gives the wrong impression, you know?"

Xander really, really wished lightning would just strike him now. It would be much less painful than having a list of his flaws read out by the object of his affection. He glanced at Willow, looking for aid, but she was just staring at him like he was some sort of moron. He supposed that was fair.

"Fortunately for you," Buffy continued with a smile, "I'm extremely good at reading people. You're genuinely interested, and while I'm fairly certain it's largely superficial, I think you and me could be friends. So, how about a compromise? You, me and Willow go out on the town this weekend. You guys show me what there is to see, we have fun, and maybe in the future, if we get continue to get along, we can see about something more."

Xander's mouth dropped. That...was _not_ what he was expecting.

"Um, sure," he managed, "Sounds great."

"Good!" Buffy said happily, "That takes care of that! Listen, though, I've gotta go talk to my first, second and third period teachers about me not having my books this morning and how we solve me not knowing what pages the homework is on. I'll see you guys here tomorrow, though, and we can talk about this weekend, alright?"

"Ooh, ooh!" Willow suddenly jumped up, eyes wide, "I know! Let's go to the Bronze, its a dance club and it's pretty cool, it's got good food and music and stuff."

Buffy smiled.

"Alright, Bronze it is. Now, I really do have to go, though, so bye!"

And with that she walked off, the lunch crowds parting before her. Xander and Willow were silent for a moment.

"What the hell just happened?" Xander deadpanned.

"You might have gotten a date in the future," Willow responded casually.

Xander nodded.

"That's what I thought. _Yesyesyes, I am AWESOME!"_ Xander suddenly shouted, jumping up and down with excitement, while Willow jumped at the sudden burst of activity, before giggling at Xander's continued antics.

All and all, she thought, it was a pretty good first day back.

**–Buffy–**

As walked away, she had a bright smile on her face. She felt that she'd defused that awkward situation quite well, all things considering. She doesn't have to do the whole awkward rejection thing, Xander doesn't get his feelings hurt, and she gets two friends on her first day back.

Buffy absently skipped over a leg sticking out of the bush on the path beside her wait what the _hell?_

Buffy turns around, horror on her face, and looked over the bush. A man's corpse, reeking of urine and feces and rot looks at her from an eyeless sockets, an expression of agony contorting his face. A dent in his armored chest is covered in old blood, and the wall behind him is crumbling where something bashed his head into it, _hard._

Biles rises in her throat, and she does the only thing she could think of.

She screams.

**–Giles, some hours later–**

Giles walked out from his office, a tray of tea and cookies in his hands, and a somber expression on his face as he set the tray down in front of the shell-shocked girl sitting at the library table. He sat down across from her, and they sat in silence for a moment.

"I'm truly sorry you had to see that," he said quietly, when it became apparent that she wasn't going to speak.

"Is it always like that?" she whispered, "When someone dies? Is that what you've been teaching me to do?"

Giles shook his head.

"No, Buffy. That is what I'm teaching you to prevent. The things you will tend to fight aren't human, nor Exalted. Their deaths will not be like that."

Buffy nodded, and said nothing for a time.

"Was he an Exalt?" she asked, not looking at him. Giles hesitated a moment, before deciding to answer truthfully.

"Yes, but not like you," Giles said finally, "He was a Dragon-Blooded, a Terrestrial Exalted."

"And I'm a Celestial Exalt." A flat statement, without emotion. Giles nodded.

"As am I. Solar, Sidereal, and Terrestrial. Sun, Stars, and Earth."

"Will I die like that?" came a quiet, vulnerable question.

"No," Giles answered without hesitation.

"How do you know?" came the demanding response, filled with fear. Despite himself, Giles smiled a dark smile.

"Because you, Buffy Summers, Caste of Dawn, are the Chosen Warrior of the Unconquered Sun. Your kind alone, of all the Exalts, was given divine authority to rule in the name of the gods. You will live for two thousand years, and will never look anything less than perfect. We Sidereals were to guide and advise you in all things, and the Dragon-Blooded were to be your loyal soldiers. A Dawn Caste Solar is more than a match for a group of far more experienced Dragon-Blooded, and a Sidereal would be a fool to fight you, even outnumbering you two, or even three to one without being far older and more experienced."

"So what happened? Why aren't there more of us?" Buffy met his gaze, and he saw curiosity in her eyes. Good, he'd thought that some explanations might help her cope.

"The Solars betrayed us," Giles said simply, "Your kind went mad with power. We lost most of our records of that time, but enough remain. The Solars assaulted the Dragon-Blooded for some unknown slight. The Sidereals were forced to intervene, and all of the Solars, most of the Dragon-Blooded and many of the Sidereals died in the conflict. Many more left afterwords, and the Unconquered Sun turned his gaze from our world, disgusted by our failure. Five Shards of Solar Exaltations remain, of unknown hundreds that there once were."

"So I can die, then," Buffy pressed. Giles sighed.

"Buffy, it took tens of thousands of Terrestrial Exalts and all of the Sidereals to kill a few hundreds of Solars. Numbers tell, eventually, but it cost us heavily."

Buffy's face contorted into a grimace.

"So, is that all I am?" she demanded, "A weapon? An instrument of destruction?"

"Of course not," Giles said firmly, "Solars were the warriors of the Unconquered Sun, but they were also his priests, his sorcerers, his spies and his diplomats. The might of the Solars is more than simple destruction. Solars possess the power to smite Creatures of Darkness, have persuasive abilities so potent that they can end wars without a single life lost. They have unparalleled sorcerous might, and can cure even the most deathly ill of patients, or purge the most terrible poisons-"

Buffy's face was suddenly filled with hope.

"Could I heal that man I found? Or make it so my mom and sister can live longer?

Giles' expression became one of firm sympathy.

"No," he told her, gently but with absolute conviction, "There is no way to restore the dead. No Charms you have, or can learn, will extend a mortal lifespan. Such is not the domain of the Lawgivers. This is the harshest lesson you will ever have to learn, but you must learn it: No force exists that can defy death. The Unconquered Sun himself never could. The greatest Solars of old sought to do so, and all failed. The Cycle of Reincarnation is an absolute law, even to the Exalted. Mortals will die in their time, the Exalted in theirs. This you _must_ know. It was the fall of many a Solar to attempt to defy death."

Buffy suddenly looked smaller. Giles knew he had just shattered a part of her. He had doomed her to outliving her loved ones by millenia. He knew that she believed him, he had felt her Essence reaching out, touching his mind to seek the truth, and he had allowed it.

"I understand," she said softly, and he, too, sensed the truth in her words. She really did.

**–Unknown–**

In a dark crypt, far beneath Sunnydale, two figures, one large and powerful, one slight and unimposing, knelt before a black marble throne in the center of a vast, bloodily-lit cavern. On the throne sat a miserable wreck of a figure. It was naked and skinless, glistening red muscles were open to the musky air. No genitalia were visible, only a shredded mess of flesh where they should have been. Sharp, red teeth were visible in a lipless mouth, and red, half-formed orbs rested where his eyes should have been. A tube ran through the muscles of the stomach, connected to jars of red liquid.

"My Lord, can you speak?" the larger figure rumbled. The figure on the throne was silent a moment, and then-

_"Yesss..."_ it rattled, but no air exited its mouth.

"How do you feel?" the smaller figure inquired in a delicate, feminine voice.

_"Like I have spent the last sixty years melting away in a river of boiling blood, you stupid girl,"_ came the response, the lack of emotion in its voice somehow adding to the terrible effect of the thing's rage.

"Does the Terrestrial blood nourish you, Master?" the larger one inquired, sparing a glance of anger for his partner.

_"As much as could be expected,"_ it hissed back, _"Which is to say, not enough. Get me more."_

"Your wish is our command, oh Master," the female bowed her head lower, and left without another word. Her fellow stayed knelt before the throne, extending his senses in vigilance. None would harm his master before the healing was complete.

**–Four Days Later, Buffy–**

"Hmm," Buffy pondered as she held up a small, tight-looking black dress in front of her, staring in the large mirror on her closet door, the pink walls and various stuffed animals cluttering her room giving it a distinctly girly, childish feel.

"Too slutty?" she murmured to herself, cocking her head sideways as she pictured herself in the dress. "Do I want to be slutty?"

She tossed the dress aside, somehow managing to get it to land perfectly on the back of her desk chair and picked up a blue floral patter dress and held it in front of her. This one was far more conservative. She frowned in disgust.

"Ugh, I look like a Jehovah's Witness," she muttered, and tossed the dress behind her, this time sending it straight into the wastebasket in the corner of her room, by her window. She reached for a little yellow sundress.

_"Definitely_ not," came a young girl's voice, and Buffy turned to see a short brunette tween with long hair, smirking at her while leaning against her open door.

"Dawn, what have I said about knocking?" Buffy asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Your door was open," Dawn shrugged, "but seriously, don't wear that. With the whole golden-tan thing you have going on, you'd look like a sunflower."

Buffy sighed.

"I know," she agreed, "I really liked this dress, though..."

"It's just as well," Dawn smiled mischievously, "you outgrew it _ages_ ago, you'd probably just pop out!"

_"Excuse me,_ young lady?" came a stern voice behind Dawn as Joyce Summers walked into the room, making her younger daughter jump, much to Buffy's amusement.

"Buffy's gonna wear that little black dress Dad got her that you hate dancing tonight!" Dawn said instantly and instinctively, ignoring Buffy's glare. Joyce turned to her firstborn with an exasperated look.

"Buffy, I'm asking you, not as an authority figure, but as the loving mother who remembers when you were an innocent little girl who wanted nothing more than to be a ballarina: Please, please _please_ don't wear that horrible dress in public, not after last time."

Buffy blushed as she remembered her mother's last birthday.

"I wasn't going to _wear_ it," she murmured defensively, shooting a death glare at Dawn, who stuck her tongue out at Buffy from behind her mother's back.

"I'll bet," Joyce deadpanned with a look of disbelief, "and Dawn, if you're going to make faces at your sister behind my back, at least do it from an angle where I can't see you in the mirror," she finished with a sigh. Dawn uncrossed her eyes and stopped making pretend rasberries at Buffy, looking abashed.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly.

"Anyways," Joyce continued, a look of concern now on her face, "I just wanted to-" she paused and turned to Dawn, "Dawn, honey, could you let me have a moment with Buffy?"

"Sure," Dawn said, "I already know the lecture about the black dress, anyways," and ducked out of the room as Buffy threw a bundled up shirt at her. Once the door was shut, Joyce looked at her seriously.

"I just want you to know you don't have to feel pressured to go out tonight," she began, to Buffy bemusement, "I can make up something about homework or family time for your friends if you don't feel up to it. I know you had a traumatic week, and-" Joyce was cut off by Buffy's soft 'oh' of realization. She was touched, honestly, but also bit embarrassed at her mother's concern. Mostly, though, she thought it was funny.

"Mom, I had a traumatic _Monday,_" Buffy said pointedly, "Today is Friday."

Joyce looked at her sharply.

"Buffy, I saw the man's body as they were carting it out. You discovered a murder victim! I looked this up online, these things can have very serious consequences, even if you don't notice. I know you're the big chosen hero, the Solar, but that doesn't mean you aren't human-" Joyce frowned as Buffy chuckled at that.

"What's so funny?" she asked, getting frustrated at her daughter brushing off her concerns, as well as worried, one of the symptoms was something like dismissing big things as irrelevant. Then, to her surprise, Buffy kissed her on the cheek.

"Thanks for worrying about me," she said, "But I'm fine, Mom, I promise. Like you said, I'm a Solar. It takes a _lot_ more than a dead body to bring me down for long."

Joyce looked worried, but she relented.

"Well, alright," she conceded, "I trust your judgment, but Buffy, just _please_ be careful. They haven't caught whoever did that yet, so make sure you stay with the crowds, alright?"

Buffy stopped herself from smiling against as she remembered the last time she'd fought a vampire. It wouldn't be nice to worry her mom any more than she had to.

"I won't go off the main road on my way, I'll stay in well-lit places, and I promise not to go off anywhere alone, or even with a small group, once I get there," Buffy assured her mother, "I'll be fine, I promise.

Joyce smiled with relief, and pulled Buffy into a hug and kissed her daughter on the forehead.

"I know you will, sweetie, but it's a mother's job to worry."

"And I appreciate it," Buffy said, and meant it. With her Exaltation came clarity, and she knew just how lucky she was, especially compared to a lot of teens. She wouldn't have her mother forever, and she was determined not to squander her while she had her.

After all, two-thousand years was a lot more than the mere forty or fifty Joyce Summers had left.

**–Four Hours Later–**

She walked swiftly down the sidewalk towards the Bronze. Willow had told her the directions earlier, and Buffy was fairly certain she was going the right way. Suddenly, she stopped. Something was following her.

"Step out of the shadows, with your hands up. If you're what I think you are, go ahead and try me. If you're human, either step into the light, or walk away. You don't wanna mess with me, trust me."

Someone coughed behind her, and she spun around, a golden disc blazing to life on her forehead as she punched out with enough force to punch through a foot of solid steel. Her fist met air.

"Impressive punch, well-done speech," an admiring male spoke, and Buffy froze as a tidal wave of nostalgia washed over her. She knew that voice, but not from where...

"However," it continued, even as Buffy spun towards the voice, emitting a flash of brilliant light that chased the shadows away, "Your awareness of your surroundings leaves much to be desired."

Buffy spun around again, this time she had _felt_ the man's breath on her ear, so probably not a vampire, but kicked behind her, hoping to catch him as he repositioned himself. Instead, strong hands grabbed her ankle, caught her elbow as she jabbed behind her, and shoved her forward. A human would have been sent sprawling, even a vampire would have felt the force behind the blow. Buffy instantly adjusted and rolled once, coming up in a fighting stance, the brilliant golden disc on her head shining with all the glory of the sun itself as it met a soft, silvery glow, reminiscent of the full moon, and Buffy felt its power cut through her adrenalin, filling her with calm warmth to combat the blazing fury within her.

There her attacker stood, at the mouth of the alley mere yards away, a bright silver disc shining on his forehead, mirroring her own caste mark. He was tall, a good six inches taller than her, with perfect short, dark hair. His golden eyes stared out at her from within a chiseled face that reminded her of the statues of the Greek heroes of old, and she wondered briefly if they had been Exalts. Because she had no doubt that that was what this man was. Her eyes ran over his body, taking in the perfectly tailored silk suit, the smile that showed off white teeth and unusually pointed canines, and Buffy suddenly realized where she knew him from.

"Angel," she whispered with awe. This was _freaking Angel._ Angel, the guardian of the City of the Angels. Angel, son of Angel Senior, decorated World War II Veteran, Liberator of Dachau and Auschwitz, founder of the Guardian Angel Security Firm and Scourge of the Vietcong until his death in Vietnam in the mid-sixties. Every Los Angelan knew about Angel, who'd taken over his father's firm and sent it soaring to new heights. After saving those athletes that got kidnapped back in the eighties, he was a national hero! He even had a _Saturday Morning Cartoon._

This...actually made a lot of sense, she realized.

"The one and only," he confirmed, and as Buffy met his eyes, she realized that not only were they golden, but the pupils were larger than normal. She was honestly unsure how to react to this. On the one hand, she had found another Exalt like her. On the other hand, her childhood hero had just jumped her in an alley.

Apparently, Angel had come to the same conclusion, because he suddenly looked apologetic.

"Sorry if I scared you," he said sincerely, "But when I heard that there was a new Dawn, I had to see if it was the real deal."

Buffy nodded, allowing her stance to relax some. But not a lot.

"So, am I?" she queried, "The real deal, I mean."

Angel grinned, and Buffy was surprised at how...wild, she guessed would be the word, the expression looked on him. Definitely not what she generally expected from the famously well-spoken hero of L.A.

"Oh yeah," he nearly _growled_ with relish, and a shiver ran down her spine at the sound and a sense of intense longing like nothing she had ever felt exploded in her chest. She felt like she wanted punch him in the face, hug him and cry herself to sleep in his arms, and do other things that she instantly forced her mind away from in case he could read people like she could, all at once.

"You're definitely the Dawn," he confirmed, either not noticing, or more likely being too polite to comment on, her inner turmoil, "I'd know you anywhere."

"Dawn's my sister," Buffy managed to say at last, even as she felt that she was forgetting something important, something that would make her _not_ look like a moron, but she couldn't think of it, her mind was running too fast for her to follow, "My name is Buffy."

Angel frowned at that.

"Didn't he tell you?" he demanded, and Buffy was surprised at the anger in his tone. She took a step back as he ran a hand through his hair in irritation.

"Damn Viziers and their secrets," he muttered, before looking her in the eye.

"Just how much did they tell you about who you are? About _what_ you are?" he asked seriously. It took Buffy a moment to catch up with him.

"Wait, they, you mean Giles' people? The sidereels?" she responded.

"Sidereals. Sih-deer-eels," Angel corrected automatically, pronouncing the word slowly and clearly.

"That I'm a Solar, a member of a group of heroes who tend to go crazy, but I'm important for some reason that they won't tell me, and that I'm Dawn Caste-oh," Buffy blushed as she remembered what she was trying to think of earlier. Angel didn't seem to be laughing at her, though, so that was good. If anything, he looked relieved.

"Okay, at least they didn't leave you completely in the dark," he said, looking calmer. Then he met her questioning gaze.

"I guess you're wondering about me, huh?" he asked with a grin, and Buffy nodded confirmation.

"I," Angel said with a theatrical flourish of his arms, "am a Lunar. I'm the shield to your sword, the guard to your king, the Seraph to your Archangel. I am a Steward of Creation, the Burning Moon, and Luna's Warrior."

Buffy tried to follow all of that, and gave up with a sigh.

"I understood none of that," Buffy said finally, "Could you go over that again? Slower?

Angel looked disappointed and-hurt?-but he quickly pushed whatever he was thinking aside, and heaved a sigh.

"Never mind," he said at last, "It's not important.. I'm sure you've got some place to be, and people to be there with, and I need to get settled in here, anyways. Look, I'll call you sometime, and we'll set up a meeting, or something."

Buffy looked at him for a moment, and detected nothing but the truth from him. She nodded, and he quickly turned and walked away into the shadows of the alley way.

"It was nice meeting you," she called out, but received no response. She stared at the darkness for a few moments before shaking her head.

"That was weird as heck," she muttered to herself as she walked on towards the Bronze. She was late as it was, and she didn't want Willow and Xander to think that she'd ditched them and leave.

–**Willow–**

Willow sat at the bar absently staring into her coke. Xander was off looking for Buffy. Again. Willow knew she shouldn't be surprised, but she'd really thought that Buffy liked them. Willow hoped that she at least wouldn't show up with _Cordelia._

"Hey, this seat taken?" a cheery voice asked beside her, and Willow jumped and turned her head as Buffy sat next to her, looking gorgeous in a white tee-shirt and blue jeans. Beneath Willow's happiness at not being stood up, even by just a new friend, there was a bit of envy.

"Sorry for my lateness," Buffy said apologetically, "I ran into an old family friend on the way here, and I lost track of time."

"It's fine," Willow said hurriedly, "you're here now, that what counts."

"Yup," Buffy said with a mock serious look, and smiled. There was a moment of silence, while Willow struggled to think of something else to say.

"How do you do that?" she blurted out, to Buffy's bemusement, "Look so good all the time, I mean."

"Magic," Buffy said with an odd little smile, and before Willow could respond, she changed th subject.

"So, you here with anyone, or just waiting on me?"

"No, I'm not here with anyone!" Willow said quickly, "I mean, I'm her with you, and Xander's around, but we haven't been together since he stole my Barbie."

Buffy raised an eyebrow at that, and Willow smiled a bit and clarified.

"We were in Kindergarten," she explained.

"That makes more sense," Buffy said with a smile.

"Yeah," Willow continued, making a study of her drink, "I don't actually date a whole lot. Ever."

"Why not?" Buffy asked, genuine curiosity in her voice. Something compelled Willow to elaborate.

"Well," she tried to search for the words to explain, "Whenever I'm with a boy I like, I can never say anything cool, or witty, or even just anything. I usually just make a few little vowel sounds, and make up an excuse to leave."

"Hmm, that's pretty bad," Buffy agreed.

"It really is," Willow said glumly, "Boys tend to like a girl who can talk."

"I'd make a joke about that, but somehow I don't think you'd appreciate it right now," Buffy said, with an odd look that Willow couldn't quite place.

"It's probably really easy for you," Willow muttered, envy clear in her voice, "I'm sure boys are lining up around the corner to date you."

Buffy smiled at that, but it wasn't a happy one.

"Yeah, they pretty much are," she acknowledged, "but that doesn't make it easy."

Willow gave Buffy a disbelieving look.

"It's true," Buffy insisted, "Look, think of it this way: Could you be an equal partner in a math competition with someone who didn't even know algebra?"

"Of course not," Willow said, "But what does that-"

"Willow, I say this not in arrogance, but as a fact: I am too good for most of the guys who want me. I'm intelligent, I'm pretty, I'm better at fighting than most hardened street thugs, and I'm never afraid to speak my mind. Most guys I've tried to date don't want a talkative, attractive girl who could kick their asses. They want a pretty, quiet trophy. That's why I didn't reject Xander out of hand. I know he's only interested in me for my looks right now, but I also know that with him, that could change. He's weird enough that he might be able to take a relationship where he isn't necessarily the big, bad man."

Willow stared at Buffy as her speech wound to a close. It was only now occurring to her just how little she knew the girl next to her, and just how useless appearances were for judging people.

Buffy met Willow's eyes with deadly seriousness.

"You wanna hear my philosophy?" she asked, and Willow nodded quickly.

"My philosophy is this:," Buffy went on, "Life is short, life is fragile, and someday, its gonna be over. Someday, Willow, is going to be the last day of your life. If that day was today, if you_ knew,_ beyond a shadow of a doubt, that tomorrow, you were going to die, what would you regret most? What would you wish you had done? What would you want to have experienced, what would you do if right here, right now, was the last chance you were ever going to get?"

Willow had the sudden, and entirely unexpected urge to kiss Buffy then and there. She crushed down on the impulse as soon as it appeared, shocked and embarrassed, her cheeks flaring red.

"Think about it," Buffy said seriously, and then her head shot around, up towards the second floor above them.

"I'll be back in a minute," she said, standing up, "I think I just saw an old friend of mine."

As Buffy walked off, Willow turned her head to the dance floor, Buffy's words ringing in her ears.

"If I was gonna die, what would I want to do?" she whispered to herself, and almost jumped as someone sat down in Buffy's recently vacated seat with a thump.

"Aw, don't go diein' on me, darling," an attractive voice sounded, "I haven't even bought you a drink yet."

**–Buffy–**

"Okay, you're slipping," Buffy said frankly as she leaned on the railing next to Giles, "I saw you all the way from the bar."

"Something terrible is about to happen," Giles said seriously, "And I haven't the faintest idea how to stop it."

"Okay, rewind:" Buffy said sharply, "What's going to happen?"

"I don't know," Giles said, eyes closed, "Just that it will be terrible. Someone here is going to die tonight. Someone innocent. There will be blood, and pain, and laughter. It will not be noticeable at first. The death will seem inconsequential. But a chain reaction of tragedies will occur. I know not the exact nature of the chain, but it will result in wide-scale death and destruction, and a figure of darkest shadow is at the center."

"Are there any clues about the person?" Buffy asked, mind racing as she watched the crowd with Giles. She couldn't see anything, but she didn't know anything to _see!_

"Just this: Save the Rosen Tree, and the world will follow. That echoed in my ears, along with the vision. Nothing more."

Buffy thought, trying to make connections. Roses. Flowers. Plant. Tree. Leaf. Plant. Rosen Tree. Rosenburg. _Willow._

"Willow Rosenburg," Buffy said suddenly, "Could it be her? Willow tree? Rosenburg? Rosen tree?"

"Buffy, you're a genius, and sometimes I _despise_ the Maidens," Giles said, spinning towards her, "Where is she, where is Willow?"

"Right down there-" Buffy began, pointing to the bar, only to see an empty seat where Willow had been sitting.

_"Damn, damn, damn!"_ Giles cursed, slamming his hands on the railing, denting the metal.

"There she is!" Buffy exclaimed, pointing across the room, near the dance floor. Willow was walking off with a man dressed in a red outfit right out of the seventies.

"Vampire," Giles stated, "Buffy-" but she was already gone, vaulted over the railing and running through the crowd. With a sigh, Giles made a mental note. Appointment with Willow Rosenburg about preventing her death, five minutes from now.

Giles' eyes flashed briefly, and he felt a pull in his gut, and he moved swiftly towards the staircase, determination replacing fear. Now he had enough information to make an appointment.

And Sidereals _never_ missed an appointment.

**–Buffy–**

Buffy ran through the crowds, people unconsciously parting around her. In mere seconds she had crossed the room to where she saw Willow, but she was gone. A doorway labeled **Bathrooms, ****Exit** was right there. Made sense. She ran through the door, and right into Cordelia, sending the other girl almost to the floor. Buffy's hand shot out automatically to catch her and pull her upright. Cordelia opened her mouth, an indignant expression on her face, but Buffy spoke quicker.

"Cordelia, have you seen Willow?" she demanded.

"Okay, first, no, I haven't seek Wonder-Geek, and second, rude mu-_ack!_" she started scathingly, before a hand around her throat slammed her into the wall. Fierce green eyes met her brown ones, and a thrill of primal fear ran through her.

"Willow left here with someone I'm pretty sure is a serial killer. She's his next victim. You don't like her, but that doesn't mean you want her dead. You're better than that, Cordelia. And you can be _more_ than what you are. Help me find Willow. Do something for someone else for once. You can be better, Cordelia. You can be more."

With those words, the hand released its grip on Cordelia's throat. She met Buffy's eyes and nodded.

"I'll round up a search party," she said, "Most of my friends are here, and all of us hotties together can get a _lot_ of guys to look."

"Good," Buffy nodded, "And get them to watch out for anyone suspicious. The killer's here somewhere, even if it turns out that Willow's fine. Make sure everyone knows not to go anywhere with anyone they don't know personally."

"Got it," Cordelia confirmed, and with that Buffy was off again, and Cordelia was taking her first, albeit unknowing, steps towards becoming something _more._

As Buffy made for the exit, a shout behind her made her pause.

"Buffy, wait, what was that about Willow?" Xander was running up behind her, alarm on his face, "I heard part of that with Cordelia, what's going on?"

"Willow might have been kidnapped by a killer, I'm looking for her. Cordelia is getting a search party together, go help her," Buffy said as she strode out into the night air.

"Maybe I wanna help _you_ find Willow," Xander said, catching up with her.

"Can you fight?" Buffy asked. Xander frowned.

"I've been in a scrap or two, but I don't think we should tackle a serial killer," he said hesitantly.

"Go find Giles," Buffy ordered, "He's in the Bronze, tell him they're headed for the cemetery, and I'm heading them off."

"Gotcha," Xander nodded as Buffy's invisible Essence overrode his objections, and he turned around to head back in the club. Then he paused and turned back around.

"Wait," he called out, "Who's Giles?"

But she was already gone. Remembering what she'd said, Xander hesitated a moment, grabbed an empty glass bottle from the sidewalk, and ran off towards the graveyard.

**–Willow–**

"Sure is dark out," Willow said conversationally. The silence they'd been walking in had been uncomfortable. Tomas, the guy from the bar, had offered take her out for ice cream. Willow had decided that missing out on being treated to ice cream by a cute guy would definitely be one of those things she'd regret when she died.

"It's night," Tomas pointed out with a smile.

"Um," Willow began, unsure whether or not she was about to sound uncool, "The ice cream place is down that road back there."

"If you cut through the south end of the cemetery, it shaves almost five minutes off the walk," he reassured her with a smile. Willow blushed, but nodded.

"Good to know," she said, and then a blur rushed by her and threw her aside, somehow making sure she landed softly, and her world exploded into golden light. She looked up, and saw Buffy standing in front of her, _glowing_, radiating power, and Tomas flinching away from her.

"You are _so_ dead," Buffy snarled.

"I beg to differ," a new voice said, and something strong grabbed her by the hair and hoisted her up. Buffy spun, glaring at the massive man who was pulling Willow's neck to the side, exposing her jugular, and Willow caught a glimpse of a ridged face, golden, demonic eyes and terrible fangs before she shut her eyes tight, willing herself to wake up.

"Let her go," came the cold order, and Buffy felt the man-no, the _thing_, holding her chuckle.

"Well, since you asked nicely, I supposed I could give you her corpse. When I'm done with it."

Willow chanced opening her eyes, just in time to see Buffy's hand snap back, grab Tomas by the hair and flip him over her shoulder, before stamping her foot into his face, crushing his skull down through to the ground with a sickening cross between a crack and a squish and causing his body to burst into dust.

"Last fucking warning," Buffy snarled, as a brilliant golden disc flared to life on her forehead and golden light radiated out around her like a physical thing, seeming to make her grow in stature, and Willow felt small and terrified, she wanted to curl into a ball and hide away from the golden goddess in front of her, to fall to her knees and beg for mercy. The demon holding her let go as he stepped back in fear, and Willow curled into a fetal ball, crying and begging to something, anything, to make this all a dream.

_"What are you?"_ the demon whispered in awe and terror.

"What am I?" came a terribly powerful, merciless voice, and the light and power drew closer, and Willow curled up tighter.

"I'm Buffy Summers, and _I am the Dawn!"_

**–Buffy–**

Buffy felt nothing but contempt for the abomination in front of her. This _thing_ was going to hurt Willow, to kill her, to desecrate her corpse. Buffy felt no hesitation as she answered moved faster than the eye could see, to come face to face with the monster as she answered his question.

"I'm Buffy Summers," she said coldly, her eyes narrowed with hate as she drew back her arm to pronounce judgment.

_"And I am the Dawn!"_ she snarled and punched. Her fist punched through skin and bone and blood and brain like so much wet tissue paper, and her hand exited the back of the vampire's skull, covered in long deceased brain matter, and the demon's eyes widened briefly before it exploded into dust. Buffy stood still a moment as the power flowed through her body. She heard several distant screams, but none near enough to pose a threat.

_"What?!"_ came a familiar male voice. Xander stood by a gravestone a few yards away, mouth open in shock, a broken beer bottle held loosely in his hand.

Buffy looked down by her feet, where Willow was still curled up in a ball, crying quietly. Giles came striding up from the direction the screams had been coming from, as calm and British as always.

"Buffy, I think you had best let me do the explaining," he said quietly, and Buffy nodded, still surrounded by the golden power of the sun, and agreed.

"Probably a good idea..."

**–End Chapter–**

** Everything has an explanation. Everything. First, though, I would like to play a game called: Guess! That! Charm!**

** Also, most of the explanations will be covered in the next few chapters, but most of them aren't spoilers, so if you've got a particular question you would like to ask, shoot.**

** Also: If Angel seems out of character, know that there is a reason, which is partially covered already. For now, let's just say he has a **_**lot**_** of dots in Performance.**


	3. Of Horrors Best Unknown

**A/N: I find that listening to Indestructible, by Disturbed, really puts me in the zone for Solar awesomeness.**

** Also, there's some graphic content in this chapter that some may find disturbing. Reader discretion is advised.**

** –Start Chapter–**

It was a somber group that sat around the table in the library, moonlight shining dimly through the windows. Several books lay open on the wood, and a tray of cookies and tea rested in the center. Nearest the shelves sat Xander, staring at Giles with narrowed eyes, waiting for the promised explanation. Across, closer to the doors, sat Buffy, her radiant aura dormant within her once more, her caste sign faded back into her head. Bright green eyes darted around the room, ever alert for danger. And between the two of them sat Willow, staring dully into her tea, clearly still shaken from her experience, and understandably so.

Giles himself at at the opposite end of the table, his books in front of him as he prepared his explanation.

"The first thing that you must know," he said quietly, "is that this universe is both far older and far younger than you know. What do you know of the Old Gods?"

Xander's frowned in confusion.  
"Just what they teach us is Elementary Mythology," he said slowly, "That the Old Gods ruled the universe with callous cruelty, until the Sun, Moon, and Stars united with the Earth to overthrow them."

Giles nodded.

"Fundamentally correct, though vastly simplified," he said, but Xander cut him off.

"Wait, they're _real?!"_ he demanded, his eyes widening in fear. Giles nodded.

"All of them?" Xander pressed. Giles' expression darkened perceptibly.

"Oh, yes," he murmured, "Lost though our records may be, we have never been allowed to forget _those_ horrors."

Xander paled.

"Wait, didn't the Sun imprison them?" came Willow's voice for the first time since her capture. Giles turned to her and nodded once more.

"The Old Gods, the Primordials, were defeated and cast into the shattered and twisted body of their King, Malfeas," Giles confirmed, "But what you do not know is how this was accomplished."

At those words he turned his gaze to Buffy.

"There is a figure missing from your myths," he said, "A great and mighty inventor, the Primordial source of technology and innovation. It is to him that we owe human ingenuity. It is to him that we owe our freedom. He saw our despair, he saw our suffering, and he devised a plan. He sought out the Unconquered Sun, Luna, who you know as the Moon, the Five Maidens, who are referred to as the Stars, and Gaia, called the Earth. In secret, he told them of his plan to craft weapons usable only by man, Shards of great power that would seek out those with great destiny. With the Unconquered Sun, he crafted Shards for those of great compassion and valor, those with the inner strength to be true heroes. With Luna, he crafted shards of Wyld power, granting those with the fortitude to persevere the might of any animal that they could hunt and kill, and the skill and speed with which to defy reality itself. For the Five Maidens, he crafted Shards of Fate, giving their Chosen the ability to foresee the future and manipulate the strands of Fate. For Gaia, he showed her the way to make an army of herself, thousands upon thousands of warriors, individually inferior to the Shard Chosen, but far more numerous, and able to reproduce and make more of themselves."

"Solar, Lunar, Sidereal, Terrestrial," Buffy murmured softly. Giles nodded.

"That is correct," he confirmed, "These were the Exalted, and they gave the Gods an army with which to oppose the Primordials. A long and bloody war ensued, but the gods were victorious in the end, and they locked the Primordials away, banished forever from Creation. After the war, the Gods, now known as the Celestial Incarnae to their worshipers, ascended to heaven, and left rule of Creation to the Exalted. To the Solars was given absolute rule, to the Lunars was given the duty of Steward, to rule where Solars could not and forever guard the Chosen of the Sun. The armies were formed of the Dragon-Blooded and their kin, and the Sidereals were named Viziers, and given the duty to guide the Solars in all things."

Giles paused and sighed heavily.

"And then it all went terribly wrong," he said darkly, "The Solars ruled wisely, for a time, and were even affectionately named Lawgivers. But then, something happened to them. They attacked the Terrestrials, the Dragon-Blooded, for some unknown reason, and forced Sidereal intervention. A vast army of Terrestrial, Sidereal and mortal forces arrayed against the Solars, and after years of brutal fighting, the Solars were killed to the last warrior. During this time, the Lunars vanished, and only one yet lives. The Terrestrials were hideously weakened in the fighting, losing over ninety-nine percent of their numbers. The Sidereals, my own people-"

"You're a Sidereal?" Xander interrupted suddenly, to Giles' displeasure.

"Yes, now as I was saying," Giles continued as though he hadn't been interrupted, "We Sidereals lost fully three-quarters of our number, and we still don't know why they have never been reborn. Everything went down from there. Millenia past, and we tried to hold the world together. Century after century, it just got worse. First came an incursion from Malfeas, which destroyed most of out records of the First Age, what we call the era in which the Solar Exalted ruled. We sealed it off, at a great cost. We lost most of the Dragon-Blooded again, and most of us died as well. It took over three-hundred years to restore our organization to anything resembling a fighting force. Then-" here Giles grimaced darkly.

"Then came the Deathlords," he with quiet hatred, "We know not where they came from, only that they are the remnants of the greatest Solars of the First Age, serving the Fallen Primordials, the Neverborn, the ones slain during the War in Heaven. Our greatest leader, a man known as Chejop-Kejak, encountered them when, three millenia ago, they sought to destroy all mankind by means of a terrible plague."

"The Great Contagion," Willow whispered, her head shooting up to meet Giles' grim gaze.

"The very same," he confirmed, "Kejak found out that the plague was magical in nature when it began killing Sidereals and Dragon-Blooded, and defying all efforts to divine a cure. In the end, he tracked down the source, the thirteen Deathlords of the Underworld. He engaged the mastermind of the plague, the one known as the Mask of Winters, along with four other senior members of the Bronze Faction, the group he'd founded to overthrow the Solars. He was met by the First and Forsaken Lion and the Lover Clad in Raiment of Tears. Five ancient and powerful Sidereals against three Deathlords. Their foes were terrible, but Kejak should have won."

Giles face twisted in bitter rage.

"And he would have," he spat, "If the Deathlords hadn't been working on yet _another_ abominable project. Creatures, demons, formed of pure Abyssal darkness, scrounged from the very depths of the Labyrinth, the home of the Neverborn. They wove these demonic presences into the souls of heroic mortals, and thus were the first vampires born. Individually, not even a match for a skilled Dragon-Blooded, they were many, and able to create more of themselves. And as they aged, their powers grew to the point that the oldest of them posed a threat to newborn Celestial Exalts. These monstrous creations struck from the shadows, falling in scores to the Charms of Chejop and his fellows, but they served their purpose. The Deathlords slew Kejak and his four friends, and with his final breath, Kejak struck out at the twisted heart of the Manse, the magical focus point, where the Plague was housed, and destroyed it utterly, rendering the plague unable to spread further. The resulting explosion injured the three Deathlords terribly, and slew all vampires present. But the Contagion had served its purpose. The Sidereals were crippled, the Dragon-Blooded cut down by fully three fifths of their number, and ninety-percent of mortals fell before the plague."

Giles looked wearily at the three teens.

"What happened next, we are not proud of" he said with a sigh, "But it had to be done. We were no longer able to safeguard Creation effectively. Something had to be done. And so the three most ancient Sidereals and the three most powerful Dragon-Blooded sought the materials that they needed, and made their way to a place of unspeakable power, and performed a long-forbidden ritual."

A gasp came from Willow, while Xander met Giles' gaze with an unreadable expression, until the Exalt turned away. Buffy was silent, having already heard this tale, though she did look uneasy.

"It was based around a young girl, pure of heart and strong of mind, able and willing to bear the weight of the world on her shoulders. The Sidereal masters took a fraction of their own power and bound it with the three Dragon-Blooded warriors' Essence, mixed with a fraction of the Darkness that the girl would be forced to fight, and with it created a metaphysical Shard of immense power."

Giles' expression was grim as he looked directly at the teens.

"And thus we created the Slayer Exaltation, to fight fire with fire. The Slayer Shard is just short of a Lunar Shard in sheer strength, and absorbs the lives and memories of the girls it inhabits, creating a line of warriors able to pass their knowledge down to their successors. And warriors they are, for the Slayer exists only to hunt vampires and Creatures of Darkness. They are perhaps the most potent weapon of good since the fall of the Solars. It is both the most valuable and most monstrous creation of my order. Our greatest triumph, mixed with our greatest shame."

Here Giles turned to look at Buffy, a sad look in his eyes.

"Once, we thought _you_ were to be the Slayer. But then-"

"Then I Exalted as a Solar, and ruined all of your carefully made little plans," Buffy said, a cheerful, teasing smile on her face.

"Indeed," Giles said dryly, a small smiled managing to force its way past the guilt, "In any case, Willow, Xander, I wanted to tell you this so that you know, despite the dangers, people _are_ out there, fighting, and that even in the darkest of times, the Slayer will be there. When one dies, another is called. And now, we have Buffy as well. You both will play an important part, but not on the front lines. You will only rarely be in direct danger."

There was a moment of silence.

"You're insane," Xander said flatly, "The Old Gods being real? Vampires? Exalted? Hybrid hive-mind super chicks? You're insane."

"And how do you explain Buffy saving me?" Willow suddenly snapped with a glare at Xander, "How do you explain her suddenly becoming ten feet tall?!"

"Actually, that was an illusion, I wasn't actually-" Buffy began, but Xander wasn't listening.

"Bad guys exist, they kidnap people, but that doesn't mean that they're vampires!" he retorted sharply, "And Buffy, I like you, and I appreciate what you did for Willow, but you can't expect me to believe this, this...I don't know what it is, but it isn't real! It can't be."

Buffy met Xander's fear-filled eyes, and he felt a warm, soft presence rush through him, filling him with peace.

"Xander," she said softly, "I know that this is hard to believe. And believe me, I _know_ how scary it is, to suddenly find out that the monsters under your bed are real. But can you really explain away what happened tonight? What you saw me do? Look at my hands," she extended her hands, palms up, then down, "No blood, no gore, no wounds. I punched a man's head apart. How can you explain that?"

"People can get really strong in stressful situations..." Xander tried weakly, and Buffy smiled softly.

"Xander, that would account for me shattering his jaw and breaking every bone in my hands. I'm unharmed. And he turned into a cloud of dust."

Xander was silent, clearly trying to think of an explanation, any explanation, to prevent the truth he didn't want to see.

Buffy reached out and took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently.

"It's going to be scary, Xander, living in my world, but I _know_ you can do it," she said firmly, "I believe that you can be _more_ than the class clown. _More_ than the joker, more than just the guy who gets the snacks. Come with me, Xander, and I'll show you a world bright and darker, more brilliant and more terrible than you ever thought possible. And I _promise,_ through the good and the bad, I'll be there to protect both you _and_ Willow. Because _both_ of you can be _more._ This is the moment of destiny, Xander. Willow's accepted it. Will you? Can you be a hero?"

Xander was quiet for a moment, his eyes closed, as the glowing warmth radiating off of Buffy, her Caste Mark shining brightly, covered him in a feeling of true calm. He opened his eyes, and saw the most beautiful vision he had ever seen before him. This wasn't the stunning girl that had gotten out of her mom's car earlier that week. This wasn't the terrifying bringer of destruction he'd seen in the graveyard. This was something..._more._

At that moment, Xander could truly believe that he was looking at an angel, descended from Heaven itself to come speak to _him._ Despite himself, he smiled wryly.

"Well, when you put it like that," he sighed, "How can I say no?"

Willow nodded her approval with a smile.

"We'll help however we can!" she promised fiercely.

"I'm glad to hear that," Giles said quietly, and the three teens turned to face the forgotten Sidereal, "Because, as it turns out, Buffy _will_ need your help."

"Really?" Xander said in surprise, "What could we actually _do_, ya know, aside from _die?_ I mean, I could carry her books, but that's not much of a _need-_"

Giles smiled despite himself.

"No, Xander, book carrying isn't what I'm referring to. Tell me something, Xander, how do you think all of these supernatural things could be hidden? An incurable plague, cataclysmic battles, ancient heroes and the demons they fight. You'd think that, eventually, this would become obvious, wouldn't you?"

"I was wondering about that, myself," Buffy admitted. Giles nodded, and pushed a book towards them. On the open page was a picture of a constellation that looked remarkably like a mask, split right down the middle.

"Long ago," Giles began to explain, "we Sidereals were faced with the same problem. The mortals were being constantly caught in the crossfire between the Dragon-Blooded and the Vampires, as well as a myriad of other, less common demons. Mortals would form groups to hunt and kill these creatures, and inevitably they died horrific deaths, and many of them ended up providing potent hosts for our enemies. So, we came up with a plan."

Giles laid a finger on the constellation and continued.

"This is the Constellation of the Mask. It holds a powerful magical importance to the Sidereals. It was a symbol of our devotion to our fight from the shadows, and the methods to which we would go to remain hidden. Long ago, we devised a powerful ritual, based in very potent Sorcery, that would forever hide us, and our foes, from the prying eyes of mortals. For twenty days and one hour we poured our Essence, our magic, for lack of a more easily understood comparison, into the spell. And on the first hour of the twenty-first day, we finished the spell. We shattered the Mask, and in doing so, we shattered our own identities. We lack a face or name of our own outside of our circle, and must take on fabricated identities. This is our price, for obscuring the supernatural from mortal eyes."

Willow was the first to break the silence.

"So, you aren't really Rupert Giles, then?" she asked, frowning in confusion. Giles smiled.

"That is not my name, nor this my face, but my mannerisms, my voice, my thoughts, these are yet mine, and these are what Rupert Giles is made of. Believe me, you'll have some trouble remembering this for several weeks, which is why I am going to have to make a point of reminding you everyday, lest you lose all memory of me," Giles responded with a smile. Willow nodded, seeming to accept that.

"Alright," Xander said, clapping his hands suddenly, "Are we all caught up now? Because it's one A.M., and I'm _exhausted._"

"Not even close," Buffy said with a slight chuckle.

"Nevertheless," Giles interjected, "It is sufficient for tonight. We'll talk more later. For now, I'll give you all a ride home. Don't worry about your parents, I'll explain everything."

"Really?" Xander said doubtfully, at which point he caught Buffy's amused smile.

"Giles is a Sidereal," she said pointedly, "He can lie to anyone, about anything, no matter how ridiculous, and they'll _totally_ buy it."

"Indeed," Giles said dryly, as he picked up his keys, "Now, if we're done with the questioning, I think it really _is_ high past time you all went home."

And with that, the weary group set off at a trot towards the library doors, and on towards home.

**–Meanwhile, Angel–**

Angel stood in the desolate cemetery where so recently he had felt the Anima of the Dawn flare brightly. He'd seen it from across town, and had rushed to her aid, just in time to see the Vizier felling the last of the vampires. A feral grin crossed his face. He'd known most of the vamps present, and he had to say, watching that Sidereal at work had been pretty entertaining. Angel wasn't sure that even _he_ could have killed them that horribly.

He chuckled out loud. Who was he kidding? Of course he could have, and had he arrived first, he would have done _far_ worse. Suddenly, he tensed. An ancient, powerful presence was weighing down on him, like a great weight pressing him down, willing his submission. A growl welled up deep in his throat. He submitted to _no one!_

"Show yourself, or I feed you your own intestines," he snarled to the shadows, the hairs on the back of his neck standing straight.

"Down, boy," came a mostly bored, but still slightly amused voice, echoing at him from all directions, "I'm a friend."

With a snarl, Angel loosed a flash of Essence, chasing the shadows away in a large diameter around him. He spun around, seeking the newcomer.

"I have very few _friends,_" he growled, "And _all_ of them know that people who sneak up on me usually end up _dead._"

"Is that so?" came the drawling, patronizing voice, "Well, I'll keep that in mind. I certainly wouldn't want to be on _your_ bad side, _Angelus."_

_"Don't call me that!"_ Angel all but roared, bringing his Essence to bear as he sought out the voice, blocking all other sounds and sights. With brutal speed, he spun to the left and threw a small knife into the shadows. A hand shot out and caught the knife by the tip.

"Now, now, that wasn't polite at _all,_" the voice said disapprovingly, and Angel saw an indistinct, but clearly humanoid figure standing in the shadows. It casually flicked his knife aside, and Angel let out another low growl.

"You're one to speak of politeness," he mocked, "Hiding in the shadows, taunting me. If you want a fight, why not face me head on?"

"Two extremely good reasons," came the voice, now bored again.

"Oh?" Angel asked challengingly.

"Yes," the voice spoke again, without change in tone, "The first being that, despite appearances, I do _not_ wish a fight with you. The second is that, even if I _wanted_ to fight you, to face you head on would be suicide. One does not simply _engage_ a Lunar Exalted, especially not one so close to Elder status."

The hostile expression on Angel's face changed to one of wary caution.

"How do you know what I am?" he demanded, "Are you a Watcher? A Sidereal?"

A chuckle brought back Angel's irritated growl.

"Now _that, _Angel, would be telling. For now, you must simply be content to know that I have your best interests at heart. Indeed, I even bring a warning."

"A warning?" Angel's mind snapped back towards caution.

"Yes, that is what I said," the voice snapped, irritation clear in its tone, and Angel couldn't help smiling. He'd finally gotten to it.

"In any case," it went on, clearly still annoyed, "The warning is this: The Slayer is coming. It knows you're here. It remembers you, and wants you dead. It doesn't yet know of her, but I'm sure it won't be happy when it finds out."

Angel paled.

"Are you sure?" he demanded, "Are you sure it's the Slayer?"

"I saw it begin its journey myself. A vampire delivered the message, and I watched as the Slayer tore the beast's head from its shoulders. I heard it curse your name, and watched it buy a bus ticket heading in this direction."

"How long?" Angel demanded, "How much time do I have? If it thinks she's important to me-"

"Knows," the voice absently corrected, "She _is_ important to you, and it already knows. Its network is...efficient, to say the least. And you have perhaps three or so months. I made sure that its bus will end up in Montreal instead of California, and I know for a fact that there is a young Deathknight there that very much desires its blood."

Despite himself, Angel grinned at that.

"Alright," he nodded, "That's enough time, I think."

"Good," the shadow said approvingly, "Be on your guard at all times, and don't trust the Watcher. He has a great many secrets, all important, some gained from...darker sources, and all jealously guarded from those who need to know them most."

Angel snorted in mixed disgust and amusement.

"Of course they are," he spat, "Damn Watchers, always think that _they_ know best. Arrogant fools."

"Indeed," the voice was definitely amused this time, "You know, Angel, I think we might become very good friends someday."

"For that to happen, I need to know your name," Angel said sharply, with a suddenly pointed look.

"Perhaps next time," the voice said after a moment's thought, "For now, I shall simply wish you well, and I will bring any further news of import to you straight away."

"I appreciate that," Angel said diplomatically, and suddenly the shadows lifted. The presence of doom was gone, and the darkness was no longer so dark.

"Huh," Angel said after a moment, "Weird guy."

**–Buffy–**

As Giles drove away in his beat-up old car after dropping Willow and Xander off at their respective houses, Buffy turned to look at the Sidereal with a pointed stare. After a moment with no response, Buffy sighed and spoke.

"I assume you have a good reason for not telling them that you have no idea who the Slayer is, and that the last three were at _war_ with the Watcher's Council?" she said with clear disapproval.

"Yes," Giles said simply. Buffy waited.

"And the reason is...?" she pressed.

"They needed reassurance, and what you said was not reassuring," came the flat answer.

"And what about _honesty?_" Buffy asked, frowning.

"Overrated," Giles said sharply, emotion entering his tone at last, "They are _important_, Buffy, more than you know. I don't want them running away from this, and if that means keeping secrets until they can deal with it, then so be it!"

"Uh-huh," Buffy nodded, her eyes narrowly, "And what is it that you're keeping from me?"

Giles felt Buffy's Essence flare, and instantly he raised his in response.

"Nothing," he said flatly, "You aren't a mortal, Buffy, you are a Solar. I don't _need_ to lie to protect you."

Buffy's face relaxed and she smiled a bit as she sensed the honesty he was projecting.

"Alright," she admitted with a grudging smile, "I guess I can see your point. It doesn't mean I agree, but at least you mean well."

Giles smiled back at the girl, and shoved aside the small twinge of guilt aside at the danger he was concealing from her as the long-dead remnants of his conscience tried to make itself heard. He was the Watcher, he knew best. She didn't need to know about the threat facing her until he was _certain_ that she was, in fact, facing danger. It was just easier all around, this way.

Then why, something deep in his mind seemed to whisper, do you still have that awful feeling in the pit of your stomach?

Giles pushed the voice aside, in the same direction as his guilt. He knew best. That's why the Maiden of Secrets chose _him _for this job.

He knew _best._

**–Below Sunnydale–**

The bloody mass of flesh resting on the throne exuded an air of sheer hatred and malevolence. The young woman kneeling before him, and the few vampires behind her, shivered in fear, despite knowing that there was nothing the Master could do to them. _Yet._

_"So, what you are telling me, Darla," _came the dark rattling rasp of a voice, _"Is that not only in my chief acolyte, my priest, Lucas, dead, but with him fell a full __**seventy percent of my forces?!"**_

The rasp managed to get a true tone at the last, but the pile of gore lapsed into a coughing fit, blood spraying out from within its lungs and ruined throat.

"Y-yes, my Master," the woman, Darla, said from within the depths of her blood-red cowl, "But it-it was our fault! The Dawn Caste was there! And a Sidereal!"

The pile of tissue on the throne was silent for a moment.

_"So..."_ he murmured, _"That is how it is..."_

Silence for a moment, and then-

_"I withdraw blame from you, Dear One,"_ came the affectionate hiss, _"Against such foes, all of you, and perhaps even myself at full, could not have prevailed. Do me a kindness, though, and take a __message. I think reinforcements are called for, at this juncture. I think the the time of Dawn has long since passed. Be a dear, and call in the Day, will you? I'm sure he won't mind helping us out for a time._

"But-but Master, I don't think-" Darla began, but a flare of dark power from the figure on the throne silenced her.

_"That's right, Darla," _the bloody body rattled, _"__**You**__ don't think. __**I**__think. __**You**__ do what I say, when I say. Now, awaken the Day, and bring him here. Before I grow impatient."_

"As you command, Master," Darla murmured fearfully, unable to bring herself to look at her lord.

She remembered the last time they'd had dealings with the Deathlords' Chosen, and she couldn't shake the feeling of dread welling up within her stomach.

This was going to be bad, she could just _tell._

**–Meanwhile, Far Away–**

Shrieks of awful agony and moans of fear and pain filled the dark, dank cavern, alongside grating, high-pitched laughter and deeper mirthful chuckles and taunts. The main cavern was a large, circular room, filled with cages which held whimpering figures, curled into balls. The dark rock walls were lined with shackles, to which were bound bloodied figures in various states of starvation. The stench of blood, urine, fear and fecal matter mixed with the stench of death and sex, creating a truly vile smell which permeated the place, seeping into the walls themselves. Deathly beautiful, pale figures stalked the rooms and the halls leading into the rest of the mountain, tormenting the other captives, their specially held concubines. Only in the main chamber could one play at will. And play the vampires did. Throughout the cavern were wall mounts, from which hung various instruments of torture, from the simple and classical whip and knives to the more complex devices, such as the Pear of Anguish and the Spanish Spider. Other, larger devices were situated throughout the main cavern, generally close to the cages. Brands sat in piles of hot coals, and several racks were placed throughout the room, alongside thumbscrews affixed to tables and even a brazen bull device, glowing red and howling with the screams of the unfortunate soul within was visible.

These sights were horrifying enough on their own, but in the center of the massive, village-sized cavern was a raised platform where the dark mistress of that little slice of hell enjoyed herself publicly. The platform itself was nearly one hundred meters across, and one of each torture device, and a few not afforded to the lesser minions, rested, awaiting use. The loudest screams on all came from this dark place, as a raven-haired beauty tended to a mutilated figure, as a small figure watched from a stool nearby.

"Silly little Dragon-Blooded," the pale woman cooed as she withdrew the bloody knife she'd been twisting into the ruined man's gut, and the howls subsided into pitiful sobs of pain and misery, "Do you see now, after these long days? Will you give up your hope, now, and admit that your brothers abandoned you?"

"Please," the tortured Exalt gasped, blood flecking past flayed lips, staring sightlessly at his tormentor through bloody eyes made blind from hour after hour in front of a blazing hot lead plate, "just kill me, you win, just don't hurt me anymore, please..."

"Shh, shh," the woman whispered, stroking the man's skinless face, eliciting a howl of pain as her razor-edged fingernails tore at delicate exposed muscle. She leaned close and captured bloody lips in a passionate kiss, and moans of terror welled up in the Dragon-Blooded's throat as the man began uselessly thrashing at his soul-steel restraints, even as the woman's hands trailed down his naked, hideously beaten chest and thighs, before hovering just over his flayed genitalia.

"Not again, not again, not again, not again," he begged, his breath hitching in his chest, broken-ribs grinding together and salty tears searing against his ruined face, "please, anything, I'll do whatever you want, my brothers are traitors, they're monsters, they left me here, they should be here, not me, I embrace death, just please, _not again!"_ the Terrestrial soldier's voice rose into a shriek of sheer panic and fear, and the woman smiled as she sensed her captive's will finally break.

"Did you hear that?" she asked the small figure on the stool excitedly, "He gives up!" the woman clapped her hands together happily, "I win again! Do you know what that means?" this question was directed at the bloody wreck tied to the torture slab, now sobbing from sheer relief.

"I die," he asked, looking up in pathetic hope. The woman nodded excitedly and giggled.

"Yes, but not until you agree to worship me and my lovely Lover!" she said, the expression of awful glee on her face belying her serious tone.

"I agree, I worship you, and your lover, no other!" he gasped desperately, an end to his nightmare himself.

"Ah, nonono, not yet!" she giggled, amused by some joke only she could see, "It only works if you know my name! It'll hurt me, a little, but the pretty glow makes the pain go away!"

"I-I don't know your name," came the fearful response, but a stifled scream cut off any further words as his scalped head was clutched by the woman's right hand as she leaned into his ear and whispered something.

"_Drusilla Keeble! _I pledge my soul and my Essence to Drusilla Keeble!" the Terrestrial gasped out through his agony, and then cried out one last time as Drusilla drove her middle finger through his ear and into his brain, ending his life.

"There now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" the finger was torn free with a sickening squelch.

A moment's silence fell over the cavern, and then the Abyssal once known as Drusilla spun around suddenly, clapping her hands and laughing in hysterical madness.

"I get half, I get half," she crowed in delight, and grabbed the small figure from the stool, "Did you hear him, Miss Edith, he said my name, so _I_ get half of his soul!"

The vampires throughout the chamber watched in a mix of awe and fear as black power surrounded Drusilla and was absorbed into her dancing form. Then, to their surprise, she suddenly stilled.

"Do you hear that?!" she gasped suddenly, cupping a hand to her ear, then looking at the doll in her arms.

"I hear someone calling us, very far away! We're going to have _visitors! Visitors, visitors, we're going to have visitors!"_

"Well, that isn't ominous," one vampire in the crowd muttered, before Drusilla absently flicked her wrist and a black knife struck the speaker between the eyes, sending dark energy crackling through his form as he fell screaming to the floor.

"Don't interrupt!" Drusilla snapped, pouting angrily, before suddenly smiling and going back to her dance with Miss Edith. After a moment, the screams and howls resumed, but with a noticeable absence of laughter accompanying it.

**–Buffy, the following Monday–**

Buffy sat in the back row of the math class, barely listening to the teacher droning on about right angles and volume, or something like that, anyway. She'd never liked math much, and this morning she felt particularly unmathy. She had had an odd sense of loss and longing all weekend, like someone she cared about wasn't there, but could be, if she looked. The constant pangs had her alternating between 'mopey, weepy' Buffy and 'irritable, where the hell are my damn shoes' Buffy. She also hadn't been able to get Angel out of her mind. The way his golden eyes drew her in, his perfectly formed face, how she just wanted to run her fingers through his gorgeous hair, his squeezable-

"Miss Summers, are you listening?" a stern voice demanded, and Buffy snapped out of her daydream with a blush.

"Of-of course," she stammered, and her teacher narrowed her eyes in disbelief.

"Really? Then I'm sure you won't explaining the Pythagorean Theorem for the rest of the class?"

Buffy's mind raced, noticing the eyes of the class upon her, and sheepishly she met her teacher's gaze.

"Um, actually, I wasn't paying attention, she confessed, "I'm not really feeling well, today."

The teacher's eyes softened.

"In that case, let me write you a pass to the nurse," she said kindly, and Buffy smiled gratefully.

_'Dodged a bullet there,'_ she thought to herself.

A few minutes later, as she walked down the halls, she heard someone call her name.

"Hey, Buffy, Buffster, Buffinator, what's up?"

She turned her head and saw Xander running up alongside her, a goofy grin on his face. She returned his smile tiredly.

"'Buffinator'?" she queried in amusement. One thing that could be said for Xander, he could make her smile.

"Yeah, you know, like the Terminator," Xander explained as he slowed to meet her pace through the empty hall, "Powerful cyborg from the future, sent back to first kill, and later protect, the future savior of mankind, John Connor."

"Ah, yes," Buffy raised an eyebrow in amusement, "Because I am a cyborg sent to destroy and protect humanity's future hero. It makes perfect sense."

"Meh," Xander shrugged, "Bullet-proof cyborg, walking divine intervention, same diff, really."

"Indeed," Buffy nodded mock-seriously, and they both broke out chuckling.

"So," Xander said after a moment of companionable silence, "I'm taking my sweet time delivering forms to Giles, who mysteriously cannot be found-"

"Did you check the bagel?" Buffy asked suddenly, and Xander gave her an odd look.

"Never mind, inside joke," Buffy waved his confusion off, "Continue."

"Well, since I can't find him, I'm wandering around aimlessly with a signed form that says "Don't come back without a signed receipt from Mr. Giles!", and I'm gonna milk _that_ little mistake for all its worth. But why is the great and good Buffy Summers wandering around the hallways during class time?"

"Not feeling the mathness, right now," Buffy admitted, "So I said I had wasn't feeling well, and the teacher sent me to the nurse."

Xander whistled and gave her an impressed look.  
"Playing sick to get out of class," he grinned, "Naughty girl."

"Well, I _do_ have a headache, if that makes a difference," Buffy said defensively, but the smile on her face belied her words.

"Don't worry Buffy," Xander said seriously, "Your secret rule-breaking habits are safe with me. It would take a bribe of at _least_ ten dollars for me to betray your confidence, and in any case I'd give you a chance to make a counter-offer."

"Your chivalry is appreciated," Buffy said with a grin, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Xander froze in place for a moment, his hand reaching automatically for his cheek, where he could still feel the residual tingle of her lips on his skin. Buffy walked ahead a few steps, before turning around with a mischievous grin.  
"Wanna ditch and hit the mall?"

Xander's eyes widened a bit more, and a grin made its way to his face as well.

"Sure," he said quickly, and with that, the two made their way to the entrance of the school, and Buffy was happy to feel able to shove the longing in her gut aside for the time being, as she enjoyed the new sensation of normal teenage mischief.

**–End Chapter–**

** And on that upbeat note, I invite questions, comments, and curses. I'm always trying to improve my vocabulary, after all.**

**And seriously, dudes on ? I can tell you're reading, and I have absolutely NO real desire to publish this story on a site where NOBODY has reviewed it. You're getting the chapters DAYS after their completion, and I'm honestly considering flat out removing the story from .**

**This isn't a whiny 'tell me I'm pretty' review beg, this is a statement of fact: If I'm writing, I want to hear SOMETHING from my readers, even if it's just "Hi, liked it," and preferably "Cool story, here's why," and even better is, "It sucked, here's why," because that allows me to improve. I've been told not to write for reviews, but why the hell else would I post something, rather than just write for my own amusement? I wanna know what people think.**

**And as for DonLyn, Garand5191, Zachary Inverse, syed, and traddy: I can see who's following my work. Seriously, leave at least ONE review. I'm not even asking you to review every chapter. This is why the story hasn't updated: Because I've been too busy posting it and talking with the readers on sites that appear to give a damn about the time and effort I put into this story.**


	4. Omake: Limit Break

**A/N: I know the title is damning, but it isn't what you're thinking. It really, really, REALLY isn't what you're thinking. There is ZERO sex in this Omake. Seriously, it ISN'T that kind of story.**

**A/N2: Also, I cannot possibly stress how non-canon this is. The characters in this Omake are NOT indicative of their counterparts in the main story, nor are any Charms or Virtue Flaws shown. Any relation between this short and later chapters is purely coincidental/accidental.**

**Also, this Omake is ****_entirely_****rule of funny, so any Charms which are inaccurately portrayed, consider them Stunts approved by the storyteller, i.e. me.**

**Thought: What if Buffy and Angel were to Limit Break at the same time?**

**Angel's Virtue Flaw: Compassion: Curse of the Mother Hen.**

**Buffy's Virtue Flaw: Conviction: Deliberate Cruelty.**

**Result: Just...just read it. I can't do it justice otherwise. **

**–Start Short–**

Spike sat in Giles' comfy couch, a pint of warm blood with Weetabix on the lamp stand beside him, his feet comfortably stretched out on the coffee table in front of him, a taped episode of Passions playing on the screen and the full moon shining in through the open windows. Even with the damn curse Ripper had hit him with, he had to admit, life was getting pretty cozy.

Then the door slammed open with a bang, and Angel stormed in from the cold midnight air, a twitchy, wide-eyed expression on his face. Spike turned his gaze back to the screen. Peaches was always upset about something these days. He chuckled to himself as he raised his drink to his lips, an amusing thought occurring to him.

_'Must be that time of the mo-'_ he started to think, before Angel's powerful grip grabbed him by the collar and hauled him off of the couch, making him spill his blood all over himself.

"Dirty!" Angel snapped at him, holding him aloft by the neck, golden eyes roaming over Spike's bloodstained shirt and crumb-covered lap.

"Yeah, you bloody moron, you made me spill my-"

"Dirty, dirty dirty!" Angel muttered, dropping Spike only to grab him by the forearm and drag him off towards the hall.

"What are you doing-" Spike began indignantly, but Angel's answer cut him off.

"You're dirty, being dirty gives you germs, germs make you sick, you kill germs with soap, so I'm going to give you a bath! With soap!"

Spike's eyes widened in sudden panic as Angel opened the bathroom door and shoved him inside.

"Look, mate," he tried to calm the Lunar down, raising his hands protectively, "I know we used to mess around, but that was a long-"

"Clothes off!" Angel ordered sharply as he started running the water, turning his back to Spike, who, naturally, took the opportunity to make a break for the exit, only to run into-

"Okay, now how the _fuck-_" Spike demanded as he staggered back from Angel, who was suddenly blocking the exit.

"Clothes off," Angel stated flatly, "_Now._"

Spike gulped reflexively. This was quickly spiraling out of control. Angel took a determined step forward, and Spike nearly fainted in relief as he heard a car door slam in the drive way. Ripper could help him!

**–****Buffy–**

Buffy slammed the door of her mother's car hard enough to dent the metal. Stupid Dawn and her stupid friends, inviting stupid _vampire pizza boys_ into the _stupid _house! And, of course, it's Buffy's fault, because Buffy was enjoying a nice bath, instead of listening to gossipy teenage girls ordering pizza with her mom's credit card. Everything was _always_ Buffy's fault.

"_Universe's whipping girl,"_ she muttered to herself as she stomped up the steps to Giles' house. She'd just crash here tonight. Stupid mom couldn't take a stupid joke about her stupid fat thighs! The woman was a twig, it was _obvious_ that she was kidding! And Dawn being so damn sensitive about nicknames! Nobody appreciated how hard she had to work to come up with 'Dawn Summers, Skeleton Key of Creation!'. Although, to be fair, she honestly hadn't worked that hard. Still, that wasn't _her_ fault!

"Stupid family and their stupid feelings," Buffy muttered, although a dark smile stretched across her face at her mother's shocked expression. With a kick, Buffy smashed the door to Giles' house open and stalked inside, and promptly hear Angel and Spike swearing, the latter screaming for help. She sighed, and then moved towards the bathroom. Her work was never done.

"Oh, what the _fuck-_" she exclaimed as she tried to absorb what she was seeing. A shirtless, vamped-out Spike, on his back sideways in the half-full tub, kicking at a soaking wet Angel, who was apparently trying to wrestle Spike's pants off.

"Buffy, I need your help!" Angel yelled over Spike's cursing as the blond vampire caught a lucky hit to Angel's head, "Spike's not letting me take his clothes off for his bath!"

"Buffy, for God's sake, help!" Spike shouted, "He's trying to make me take my clothes off for a bath!"

Buffy stood silent for a moment, and then a truly wicked grin began to grow on her face. _This_ was what lemons and life were all about.

"Well, we can't have that," she declared, rolling up imaginary sleeves for effect, "Spike, let's get those pants off!"  
"Bloody hell, not you too!" he moaned as the Solar closed in to help his assailant.

**–****Xander–**

Xander pulled up to Giles house, and sure enough, Joyce's car was there. Giles had called him a bit ago to tell him to check on Buffy, who had apparently stolen her mom's car to stay over at Giles' after a fight, and Giles was worried about Spike's safety, given the vampire's ability to provoke Buffy into a murderous rage when she was in a _good_ mood. However, Giles was out doing something for the Sidereals, so it fell to Xander to go calm Buffy down, and sweep up Spike's ashes, if he was lucky.

As he walked up the to the door, though, he noticed something off. For one thing, the door wasn't connected to the doorway. For another, there was a surprising amount of British swearing coming from inside. Xander sighed. And he'd brought along his special "Spike's dead for good" dustpan along, too.

As he walked in though, he realized that the screams were coming from he bathroom, along with splashing. A sinking feeling appeared in his stomach, before he pushed away those thoughts. No _way_ was Buffy bathing with Spike, there _had_ to be an alternative explanation.

With a sense of growing trepidation, he walked into the bathroom, and saw-

"What the _fuck-"_ he began to exclaim, as he saw Angel holding Spike in a headlock as Buffy tried to take his belt off, but Spike cut him off.

"Xander, run and get help!" he screamed, "They're trying to _bathe me!"_

Angel's gaze turned to meet Xander, who had a moment to experience true terror before-

_"__Unclean!"_

–**Giles–**

Giles dropped out of a portal he'd slipped into after performing Yellow Path a few moments ago, landing in the middle of his lawn with a thud. It had been over half an hour, and Xander had yet to call him, and something felt extremely wrong with the situation. Hurriedly, he picked himself up, brushing grass and dirt from his sleeves and pant legs.

"Well, that was remarkably efficient," he muttered, before the cries for help reached his ears. Without further pause, he ran inside, towards the bathroom to find-

"What the in the _bloody fuck-"_ he exclaimed, before pausing, unable to finish with anything that could possibly explain his feelings further.

What he was seeing was a hog-tied Xander lying beneath a shattered sink, water pouring over him, a very blank expression on his face, while Buffy and Angel were being fended off by a plunger wielding Spike clad in only his socks and underpants, an expression of wild-eyed panic on his face as he turned to Giles from the corner he'd been backed into.

"Yeah, that's pretty much what I said," Xander informed him flatly.

"Giles, run!" Spike shouted as he clubbed Angel over the head with the plunger, only to be promptly disarmed and tackled by Buffy.

_"__Save yourself!"_ the blond vampire shrieked.

"Too late," Xander sighed, "He noticed you."

Giles experienced a moment of confusion, followed by a moment of utterly horrifed comprehension, before-

_"__Unclean!"_

**–****Quentin Travers–**

The ancient Sidereal master stepped regally out of a large limo in front of Giles house. The man had slipped into a portal perhaps an hour ago, and Travers' Charms told him that the man was here. Travers was instantly wary upon stepping towards the house, however, as he sensed tremendous amounts of Essence being expended, along with shouts and cries for help. Several mortal police cars were parked haphazardly on the lawn, and the door to the house had been kicked open. He deftly slipped inside, towards the room that the noises were coming from, along with a large puddle of water. Quentin readied his most potent Charms as he stepped around the door, and-

_"_What the _fuck_-" he began, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. A fully clothed mortal teen was hogtied beneath a broken, shattered sink that was the source of the water. An entirely naked, sulking demon-faced vampire was bound by hand-cuffs on both hands and feet, his legs sticking out over the edge of the overflowing tub, while he only living Lunar Exalted rubbed suds into his bleached-blond hair. Four mortal police officers sat back to back, still mostly clothed aside from their bullet-proof vests, which had been tossed into a corner, with the only living Dawn-Caste Solar one-handedly pouring bucket after bucket of soapy water on their heads, giggling madly as she did so, while poking a mop up at the ceiling with her other hand. Quentin glanced up, and saw her target: a shirtless Giles hanging from the roof by the tips of his fingers and toes, dodging poke after poke. Quentin's asscioate caught sight of him.

_"__Run, run and get help, they've gone mad!"_ the Chosen of Secrets screamed. Unfortuately for Quentin, it was at that moment that the Solar and Lunar turned their gazes to him, and he barely had time to scream before, as one, they shouted-

_"__Unclean!"_

**–****End Omake–**

**And this, children, is why you don't smoke crack, do heroine and drink straight LSD at the same time.**

**Wait, what I meant to say was: Drugs are bad, m'kay?**


	5. Heart Compelling Method

**A/N: Please don't tell me I messed up on any spells in this chapter. The Buffyverse magic system doesn't splice well with Exalted's, so I had to take some liberties with stuff, including a few Celestial Charms. Bear with me, please.**

** To Space, who reviewed anonymously on : I'm delighted you're enjoying the story, but if you have questions, please leave me an email address where I can answer you. It's much more convenient for me to be able to respond quickly and personally, rather than devote an entire author's note to a single question, especially since I usually forget to add them. As to your question, the story is up to date now, it's just that the chapters I added to when you read them had been finished and posted on other sites several days prior to me placing them on .**

** –Start Chapter–**

Giles paced back and forth in front of the table in the center of the library, a thunderous expression on his face.

"No, absolutely _not!"_ he snapped, "I don't care for your reasoning, I don't care what _madness _has befallen you, you will _not_ be doing this, am I understood?! I give you a _great deal_ of lenience due to your youth, but you are _a Solar Exalted!_ I will _not_ allow you to lower yourself through association with this-this _cult!"_

Buffy looked at him with an adorably puzzled expression (_'ignore her, Giles, your will is the stronger,_) on her face, and looked down at the colorful uniform she was wearing.

"Do you not like the outfit?" she asked curiously, an expression of hurt on her face. Giles nearly smiled at her talents for positive manipulation, and likely would have, had his disgust not ran so deep.

"Do you just tune me out, Buffy?" he asked instead, exasperation clear in his tone, "Am I just white noise in the background, a mild nuisance to be expunged at will?"

"Sometimes," Buffy answered honestly, an innocent expression on her face, and this time the corners of Giles' mouth twitched up in amusement.

_'Damn charismatic Solar Exalted,'_, he thought to himself, before shaking his head clear of her influence, before turning around and pushing his cart of books back towards the shelves. Buffy effortless skipped the several meter distance between her and the front of the cart in a moment, a reproachful look on her face. She really _was_ good at this...

"I _did_ tell you I was going to try out for the Cheerleading Squad," she reminded him, a subtle admonishment in her tone. Inwardly, Giles marveled at her natural talents for persuasion. She wasn't using even a single mote of Essence, yet she was overcoming his enhanced defenses with subtle ease. It was all in the tone of her voice, her posture, the opened eyes. Simply astounding.

With a spark of irritation, he overruled the sympathy building within him, the urge to allow her her childish games and fancies. He was a Chosen of Secrets, he was supposed to be made of sterner stuff!

"You are the chosen warrior of the Unconquered Sun," Giles stated firmly, betraying no evidence of his inner struggle, "A Dawn Caste Solar Exalted. You have a sacred duty to hold the world together, to destroy all Creatures of Darkness, to spread the rule of law. You do _not_ have a sacred duty to wave...pompoms at people! As your Watcher, as a Celestial Exalted in a superior place of power, and as the dominant male presence in your life, I forbid you from doing this, three times over!"

Giles' triumphant smile faded swiftly at the look on Buffy's face.

"And you're going to stop me...how?" she asked with an adorably cute evil smile that made Giles want to chuckle and indulge the lovely girl in front of him.

"Well," he responded with a raised eyebrow, all irritation gone, but with a vague sense of unease nagging at the back of his mind, "I suppose I'll just have to appeal to your common sense, and hope that you listen to reason."

"Common sense, schmommon sense," Buffy dismissed him with an airy wave of her hand, "I just wanna do something _fun,_ and I miss being a Cheerleader."

Giles shook his head with a sigh.

"Well then, I suppose I can't stop you," he admitted, "Just...don't demean yourself too much, please?"

"I won't," Buffy promised with a happy smile, gave him a quick hug, and ran off, leaving Giles with a contented, happy feeling in his stomach, even as his unease faded to nothing.

**–Elsewhere–**

**A dark room, filled with smoke and shadows, effigies of the living and remnants of the dead are strewn across the room. A pentagram, drawn in blood, covers the entirety of the floor, as a dark figure, cloaked in shadow, stares at something only it can see, and casts its spell.**

** –Buffy, Tryouts–**

Buffy walked through the doors to the gym with a bright, cheery smile on her face as she observed the competition. Willow and Xander followed behind her, Xander paying particular attention to the girls doing their cartwheels.

"So, Giles didn't approve, huh?" Willow was saying as they walked.

"He came around," Buffy shrugged, an odd little smile on her face. Xander returned to the conversation with a supportive pat on Buffy's shoulder.

"We're behind you, Buffy," he assured her, "Nowadays, people all scoff at school spirit, but not us! I mean, just _look_ at these girls, giving it their all! Ooh, stretchy!"

His gaze went to a pretty, dark-haired girl doing her stretches, and Buffy felt a twinge of annoyance and something else, (anger, maybe?) at the other girl.

"Anyways, where was I?" Xander asked, turning back to Buffy and Willow.

"Pretending that seeing scantily-clad girls in revealing poses was a spiritual experience," Willow said pointedly.

"Who says I'm pretending?" Xander asked cheekily, and another surge of annoyance, this time at him, shot through her. She felt the sudden desire to show off a bit.

"Oh, hey, that reminds me-" Xander started, reaching into his pocket and turning to Buffy, "I got you something. Just a little good luck gift."

He tossed her the object, and her hand shot out and caught it effortlessly. A pretty faux-gold bracelet lay in her palm, the words 'Yours Always' written on them. Even if it wasn't real gold, the bracelet was ornate enough to have cost a good thirty or forty dollars.

"Oh, how sweet!" she thanked him with a smile as Willow examined the bracelet.

"'Yours Always'?" she read out-loud, looking at Xander questioningly. He blushed.

"It came that was, th-they all said that, really! All the bracelets, I mean, not people, or...Buffy?" but she had stopped listening to his stammered explanation as she walked over to the middle of the gym, and suddenly, every eye was upon her.

"Hi," she greeted with a smile, "I'm Buffy Summers. I'm looking to become a cheerleader, and this is my routine."

And with that, it began. Buffy slipped into a perfect cartwheel, rolling once, twice, three times and bouncing out of the roll into a six-revolution handspring that zig-zagged across the floor. As she landed on the last spring she moved into a twirl, which turned into a fast spin, completely with complex leaps, and a pirouette which could have shamed a professional ballerina. As Buffy's routine continued, the entire room watched, unable to turn away, save two in the back.

"Hey, good to see you again, Amy," Willow said quietly as she stood next to the red-headed teen. Amy smiled in return, but the look seemed forced.

"Same to you," she nodded, before turning her gaze back towards the floor, and Buffy's increasingly complex routine, and Willow followed her lead, not noticing as an expression not unlike hatred clouded Amy's face.

"So, do you know Buffy?" Willow whispered, eyes redrawn to Buffy, not noticing as Amy clenched her nails into her palms so hard they drew blood.

"_How I hate this, let me count the ways,_" Amy whispered irritably, drawing a questioning look from Willow.

Suddenly, a shout of panic echoed through the gym as something seemed to yank Buffy's foot out from under her, causing her to slam her chin into the floor with a loud crack. Only Willow also saw the gash open across the back of Buffy's skull, as though something had struck her with an edged instrument.

"Buffy!" Xander cried, and rushed forward, and Willow snapped out of her motionlessness and ran forward as well

–**Elsewhere–**

** A terrible curse echoes throughout the room as the dark figure kicks over one of the effigies.**

_**"She should be dead!"**_

** –Buffy, Hospital–**

Seven. Long. _Hours._ Buffy had been counting. That's how long she'd been at the hospital. She'd woken up in the ambulance, her head hurting but otherwise fine, only to be rushed to the emergency room, where doctor after doctor simply _refused_ to believe that someone could be as badly hurt as she had been, and then simply recover. Buffy had convinced several of them to leave her alone, until her mother caught on several of the most annoyingly disbelieving doctor's gave her a clean bill of health, only to be yelled at by another, newer doctor for overlooking possible brain damage.

Of course, it probably hadn't helped when that one surgeon came in to tell Buffy's mom that new shoes could help greatly with balance. In retrospect, she probably _had_ gone a bit far with that one...

And now, after several CAT scans, an X-Ray, and much confusion, Buffy was _finally_ being allowed to leave. Of course, before _that_ could happen, the doctors had to give her mother lots and lots of_ pamphlets_ on dealing with head injuries. Buffy's only consolation was that, before leaving, she'd made sure that the doctor who'd delivered the pamphlets would be spending the next few days compulsively destroying all pamphlets in the hospital that he found.

Of course, this didn't help _her_ at all with her current predicament, so she was determined to be as grumpy and teenager-like as possible. Her resolution to appreciate her mother's mothering only extended so far, and she'd _really_ wanted to be a cheerleader again...

"For the last time: I. Am. _Fine."_ Buffy said, her eyes closed as she sat in her cheap hospital gown, in a _wheelchair_, being pushed by her mother.

"Buffy, the doctor said it looked like someone had hit you in the back of the head _with an axe!_" Joyce said sternly, "You're not walking anywhere until further notice."

"Mom, I am capable of making _my entire body_ considerably harder than steel. I can stop bleeding by _willing it._ I can walk on my own!" she complained, but Joyce's stern look silenced her.

"No. Walking." Joyce stated firmly. Buffy huffed and rolled her eyes.

"You should be _glad_ I'm alright, not inventing ways I'm sick," Buffy muttered, and Joyce frowned. That was actually a really good point...

Wait, what was she _thinking?!_

"Buffy, I'm not _inventing_ anything," Joyce said, "I'm doing my job as a mother of not letting my daughter with a severe head injury run around willy-nilly."

"I want ice-cream," Buffy grumped in return, crossing her arms in petulance.

"I already bought chocolate and vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup, bananas, whipped cream, and maraschino cherries," Joyce said smugly, "But, if you still want to walk, I suppose I can just return them..."

"No, I hate walking, legs are useless!" Buffy assured her in a rush, "I want sundaes, not walking!"

"That's what I thought."

**–Angel–**

In the shadows of the gym, moonbeams the only source of light, a solitary figure stood before the bleachers, golden eyes watching for signs that only he could see. A frown crossed his face as he observed the golden remnants of several Solar Charms.

"Buffy..." he muttered, and blocked out the leftovers of her Essence. Yes, he could feel...something. He closed his eyes and sought out with his inner senses.

_Exalted._

A familiar sense of weight fell over his shoulders, an infinite power beyond life and death, potent beyond imagining. Angel smiled. Well, beyond _human_ imagining, anyway.

"So, you _are_ an Exalt, then," he murmured out loud, not bothering to turn around. This mysterious Exalted wasn't his enemy, not yet. If he wanted anonymity, Angel would allow him that.

"Yes," came the Voice after a moment, "as are you. Is that an issue?"

"No," Angel said, "It's just somewhat surprising. There aren't many Exalts around anymore, and I haven't exactly endeared myself to the ones who are. The Sidereals despise me for being Lunar, the Dragon-Blooded do whatever the Sidereals do, the Infernals are still pissed that I killed the Slayer Caste back in 'Nam, the Abyssals have hated me ever since I liberated Auschwitz, and as far as I know, there's only one Solar. That doesn't exactly leave a lot for you to be."

"I have my reasons," came the flat answer, "And I'd rather not discuss them at this juncture."

"Fair enough," Angel shrugged, "So, can you help me out with this? Some Sorcerer tried to take Buffy's head off this morning, and I'd like to return the favor.

"The Lover is on the move."

_"What?!"_ Angel shrieked, spinning around, and seeing nothing. But that was beyond unimportant now.

"The Lover Clad In Raiment Of Tears received a missive from the First and Forsaken Lion this morning. The stalemate in the Underworld in broken, and the Neverborn are stirring. Both Dusk and Day are moving, along with a large host of vampires each, and no, I don't have exact numbers."

_"Damn,"_ Angel cursed, "What about the Mask of Winters? What's he doing?"

"As far as I know, he's still on Atlantis," the Voice replied, "And is claiming to be neutral in the coming power struggle, but if he believes that, he is naïve."

"And the Mask is anything but naïve," Angel sighed, "Look, where do the Bodhisattva and the Bishop stand on this? The last I heard, they were the ones pushing for a mass withdrawal of vampires from Creation."

"The First and Forsaken Lion tore the Bishop's head off, and the Bodhisattva withdrew his complaints," the voice stated dryly, "The Bishop will turn up at his estate eventually, of course, but it'll likely be a few weeks, and by then the First and Forsaken Lion will have all the support he needs to move forward unopposed."

_"Shit,"_ Angel swore again, "What's the avenue of attack? And the target, for that matter?"

"The Lover believes that she has found a Jade Prison, and the First and Forsaken Lion agrees." the Voice said, and Angel started involuntarily.

"Is it for real?" Angel demanded, mixed eagerness and panic in his voice. A Jade Prison...the greatest treasure imaginable. And the Deathlords had found one.

"Yes," the Voice confirmed, "I already knew of this one-"

"And you just _let it sit there-!?"_ Angel began to scream, his temper flaring.

"It is beyond my reach, and yours as well!" the Voice snapped irritably, "And I _really_ didn't feel like involving the Bronze Faction in this, as I'm sure you can well understand!"

"Fine, fine, I'm sorry," Angel placated, "But where is it?"

"Where else?" the Voice asked, irritation replaced by resignation, "But the Sunnydale Hellmouth?"

Angel opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He closed it, then opened it again, and still couldn't find words to express just how bad things were.

"Quite," the Voice agreed dryly.

"_How?"_ Angel asked finally, his voice a slightly higher pitch than normal, "I mean, the Hellmouth is basically just a Manse that opens into Cecelyne-"

"It also connects to both the Wyld and the Underworld," the Voice elaborated, "As well as Elsewhere. Seven decades ago, the First and Forsaken Lion discovered that the heartstone that kept the Sunnydale Hellmouth closed had been stolen and replaced with a massively powerful energy source. He investigated, and after losing both the previous Dusk Caste and the Midnight to the Behemoth that guarded the inner depths, the Ancient Vampire sent with them reported back that the heavily enchanted heartstone was a small, black orb of purest jade. The First and Forsaken Lion knew instantly what it must be, and sent the Vampire back to seize it. The Vampire promptly tried to shatter the spells through brute force, and triggered a safeguard the cast the Jade Prison deep into the heart of the Wyld, and himself into a rather...interesting Hell Dimension."

"It was the Master, wasn't it." Angel stated, completely unsurprised. It was just _so_ like the Master to do something so unbelievably _arrogant-_

"Right in one," the Voice said with vindictive amusement, "the wrinkled bastard got to spend the last sixty years submerged in boiling blood. That Hell Dimension is ruled by a Third Circle Soul of Malfeas with a rather...sadistic sense of irony."

"Wait, 'got to'?" Angel asked, eyes closing in annoyance, "Let me guess: that surge of Essence the week, the one I dismissed as Buffy fighting Luke, that was him, wasn't it? And you knew, so, naturally, you assumed that _I_ knew. Am I right?"

There was an awkward pause.

"I'll just assume that you don't know anything from now on, then, shall I?"

_"Thank_ you," Angel exclaimed in exasperation, "Now, what _else_ are you sure I know?"

"Hmm..." the Voice mused, "You know that Buffy is your Solar Mate, right?"

Angel nodded.

"Yes, I'm dealing with that as best I can right now."

"You know that your ex, Darla, is working with the Master, as well?"

_"Fuck-fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck,_ no, I didn't!" Angel glared into the shadows.

"You know that the Slayer is-"

"Yes, I know who the whiny little bitch is, don't remind me," Angel grumbled.

"Let's see..." the Voice pondered, "I think that you're up to date, then."

"Good," Angel sighed, relieved.

"I have to go now," the Voice said suddenly, "But I'll contact you as soon as I have more news. Oh, and the Sorceress is a Ghost-Blooded woman somewhere in town, I'd offer more, but I've been too busy with the Deathlord situation to find the address or name."

"Really?" Angel asked, a slight smile on his face, "That's...actually really convenient. I was thinking it was a real threat."

Silence was the only response, and Angel sighed, and began running through a mental list of his resources, and wondering how the _hell_ he was going to deal with two Abyssal Exalted and an army of vampires.

**–Willow–**

It was the end of the school-day, and Willow was carefully placing her unneeded textbooks in her locker, arranging them chronologically by class period. It was much neater than by title or author, and more convenient for her. Convenience, though, wasn't the main thing on her mind. Buffy hadn't come back to class yet, and it had been four days already. She'd seen the head injury, and it had been really bad _(she shuddered as she remembered seeing bits of Buffy's skull shattered in the awful wound) _but Buffy was a _Solar._ Surely she could just shrug that stuff off, right?

"Hey, Will!" came a voice behind her, making Willow jump a foot in the air. She spun around, and saw Xander grinning at her.

"Guess what day it is?" he asked, "Go on, guess!"

"Friday?" Willow asked without enthusiasm, really not in the mood for Xander's silliness.

"Yes, indeed, you are right in _one!_ Today is Friday, that most holiest of days when school gets out and the whole weekend is ahead of you!"

Xander frowned at Willow's half-hearted shrug, and a concerned look appeared on his face.

"Hey, what's with with the rainclouds, Eeyore?" Xander tried to joke, "You're harshing my buzz, what's eatin' ya?"

"Buffy!" Willow shouted, suddenly angry at Xander for his lightheartedness while their friend was injured, "She's still absent from school, she might be in surgery, or-or in a _coma,_ and _how the heck is that so funny?!"_

Xander stopped chuckling, shaking his head.

"Willow, I'm not laughing about that, well I am, but not for why you think," Xander explained, "Buffy's fine, I thought you knew!"

"Wait, what?" Willow asked, bewildered, "How do you know?"

"Because she's been calling me three times a day since she got out of the hospital, complaining/bragging about how even though she's fine, her mom won't let her out of bed, and is force feeding her ice cream sundaes. She _begged_ me to come over and rescue her from Dawn, who thinks the entire situation is hilarious! She told me to invite you, because she doesn't have your number, and I...totally dropped the ball on that one, sorry," Xander finished with an apologetic grin.

"It's alright, I'm just happy she isn't hurt," Willow said, a confused frown on her face, "But what's so funny about eating ice cream in bed?"

**–Buffy's Room–**

Willow had to bite her tongue to stop from laughing, as she stood in Buffy's bedroom, Xander beside her, and Buffy sitting in her bed across from the door. A t.v. was mounted on a stand at the end of the bed, and some animated movie was playing loudly. The room itself was _pink._ _Really_ pink. The walls were hot pink, as were the fuzzy carpets. A pink pig was tucked into the crook of Buffy's arm, and there was a pink dresser against one wall, and the closet on the other side of Buffy's bed had pink-painted doors. Numerous stuffed animals were seated on white shelves set up on the wall. This, however, wasn't what was funny.

No, what Willow was desperately trying not to laugh at was Buffy, sitting with the most adorably grumpy expression she'd ever seen, arms crossed over under her breasts, with a completely bald head.

"They cut off my hair," Buffy said with quiet, almost disbelieving rage, "They. Cut. Off. My. Hair. And the first person to giggle will get kicked in the balls, Xander."

"I didn't say anything," Xander managed to say, trying desperately to wipe the smile off of his face.

"Wh-why did they cut it off?" Willow asked, carefully not giggling at all. She didn't have balls to be kicked in, but that didn't mean a groin kick didn't hurt like bejeezus.

"That's what-" Xander started to say with a grin, before Buffy's expression of utter fury silenced him with a gulp.

"They wanted to examine how my scar was healing," Buffy stated, her voice trembling, her right eye twitching, "So I kicked one of _them_ in the balls. So they drugged me. And while I was asleep, they cut off my hair, and were so very _surprised_ and _delighted_ to discovered that _there was no freaking scar._ Because I didn't _want_ there to be a scar. I am a Solar Exalted. I am Perfection made flesh. If I don't want to have a scar, _there will be no scar._"

"So..." Willow started to say, beginning to _really_ see what Buffy was getting at.

"My _mother_ didn't bother to ask Mr. Giles what to do, because 'he's a perfectly pleasant man, but he isn't a _doctor,'._ So Giles, concerned that my mom had forgotten about him, _again,_ came over shortly before I woke up. He told my mother not to worry, because Solar Exalted can recover from _any wound that doesn't directly kill them._ _Perfectly._ Like _everything else we do._ So, upon waking up, I discovered that my mom, _for no legitimate reason,_ allowed a bunch of doctors to _shave my head._ She has been notified, through written correspondence, that I will not be speaking to her until my hair finishes growing back on Sunday, but this does not in any way imply that I do not want more ice cream. You two are free to talk to her as you wish."

"So, you can grow hair back, then?" Xander asked, and Willow turned to stare at him. It never failed to amaze her how _completely_ Xander could miss the point of something.

"Xander," Buffy sighed, eyes closed, "If I really wanted to, I could, with relative ease, learn to grow _your_ hair back."

"Can you grow other things-" he started, but was cut off.

"Xander, if you finish that sentence like I think you're going to, I swear, I will kick you _so hard_ your theoretical sons that you will never have after I'm through with you will clutch themselves in pain and _explode."_

"She's not kidding, you know" came a new voice, and this time both Xander and Willow jumped up.

"Um, who the hell are you?" Xander asked, frowning at the newcomer as he took a step back. In the doorway of Buffy's room stood a large, muscular man, easily six foot two, dressed in an impeccable silk suit and shoes that Xander was certain cost more than his father's car. Golden eyes looked out from a face that might as well have been chiseled from marble by Michelangelo himself. Perfectly gelled dark hair straight out of an ad for rich, successful business men gave him a youthful, sophisticated look, and Xander felt suddenly self-conscious about his own hastily combed mess he called hair. A winning smile that showed off the man's perfect, shiny white teeth was directed at the bed, where Buffy suddenly broke out into a smile.

"Angel!" she exclaimed happily, before suddenly paling in horror and ducking under her covers.

"Go away!" she yelled out in panic, her voice muffled by her comforters, "Don't look at me!"

"But if I go away, I can't give you your get-well present," the man, Angel, apparently, protested playfully, ignoring Xander's query, to the teen's irritation.

"Present?" came a hesitant question from beneath the fluffy pink comforter.

"Yeah, I went all the way to L.A. to pick it up for you. They just have good jewelers in Sunnydale, but if you don't want it..." he trailed off with a shrug, and turned to leave.

"No, gimme!" Buffy popped out from under the covers, and Angel smiled, and Xander was impressed at how casual he was being about the whole 'no hair' thing. No, not even casual, like he didn't even _notice._

"Catch," Angel said, and lightly tossed a small black-felt box over to Buffy, who's hand shot out in a blur and caught it faster than Xander could perceive.

"Present!" Buffy said happily, as she opened the box, and her mouth dropped, all childish greed gone.

"I-I don't-I-" she stammered, and Willow walked over to see what was in the box.

"Holy cow!" Willow exclaimed, "Is that _real?"_

"Yep," Angel said with a grin, and Xander walked over to see what was in the box.

It was a small ring, made of pure, shining gold, with a bunch of little gems, rubies, sapphires and diamonds, dotting the outer part of the ring, arranged in a patter that spelled 'BUFFY'.

"Wow," Xander managed to say, through the stunned haze that was his mind. Absently, he realized how inadequate this made his bracelet look.

"Angel, you shouldn't have-" Buffy began, looking wide-eyed at the older man, but he cut her off.

"Buffy, it's enchanted," Angel said with a pointed look, "It'll make your hair grow back by tomorrow morning, among other things."

"In that case, you'll get this ring back when you pry it from my cold, dead fingers," Buffy said instantly, without changing her shocked, grateful tone.

"Yeah, I kinda figured that," he said dryly.

"So," Xander interrupted suddenly, drawing a glare from Willow, "not to sound like a broken record, but who the _hell_ are you?"

"Xander, are you blind?!" Willow demanded, uncharacteristically abrupt, "That's Angel!"

"Yeah, I heard the name-_holy shit you're Angel,"_ he exclaimed as recognition hit him, "You have a Saturday Morning Cartoon! I still have your action figures! And you know Buffy!"

Angel gave him an odd look.

"Yeah, moving on," the older man turned to Buffy, "Didn't you tell them about me?"

"Um, if by 'tell them' you mean totally forgot to mention you at all, to anyone, then, yes, I told them," she said, wincing.

"I'm Buffy's...other half, I suppose you could say," Angel began, but he was once more cut off by Xander.

"You two are _dating?!"_ he asked, turning to stare at Buffy, then back to Angel, "Aren't you a bit...old, for her?"

"He's a Lunar Exalted," came Buffy's slightly annoyed voice behind him, "the counterpart to my Solar Exaltation, actually."

Xander processed this.

"So, you aren't dating," he clarified, looking at Angel, who just shook his head.

"Sorry, kid, but you really aren't my type" Angel said without missing a beat, "No offense."

Buffy and Willow both burst out laughing at that as Xander sputtered some half-formed denials, and Angel grinned cheekily at him and slapped him on the back, making him stagger forward.

"Relax, I'm kidding," he reassured, and Xander gave him a dirty look.

"Yeah, funny," he muttered.

"Oh, cheer up, Xander," Buffy said with a smile, "He was just teasing."

Despite himself, Xander found his annoyance draining away, to be replaced by a deep sense of well-being.

"Yeah, you're right," he agreed, and turned to Angel, sticking out his hand, "and it _was _a pretty funny joke. You already heard, but I'm Xander, and it's an honor to meet you, Mr. Angel."

The Exalt looked at him for a moment, before smiling back and taking Xander's hand in a firm grip.

"Any friend of Buffy's is a friend of mine," Angel said amiably, "And please, just call me Angel. The Mr. makes me feel old."

"How old are you, anyway?" Willow asked curiously as Xander released Angel's hand.

"Ninety-two," he admitted, and Willow's eyes widened as Xander whistled admireingly, "Which I why I don't like being called Mr."

And with that, the ice was broken, and the group chatted in easy comradely until dinner was called some few hours later, and Angel was grateful for the excuse to put off telling Buffy the bad news for a little while longer.

**–Elsewhere–**

** "Bone of father, blood of mother, with this spell, your fate I smother,"**

** A splash, a hiss of evaporating matter.**

** "God of laughter, god of tears, drown my enemy in her fears,"**

** Shadows begin to gather, and fell whispers beckon from the lightless depths of nothingness. She ignores them. Hungry ghosts were nothing before her power.**

** "God of Darkened, Lightless Depths, send Buffy Summers to her death."**

** A flash of pure unlight overwhelms her senses, and as she falls into unconsciousness, she smiles, because she heard the response from her patron.**

_**"Deal."**_

** –Xander, the next day–**

"It's just, I don't want to seem too pushy, you know?" he said, pacing back and forth in front of Willow, who was sitting with her back against a tree, pretending to be reading her book while also pretending to be only half-listening to Xander.

"I mean, she said to give it time, see if we click, ya know? But we do, I think," her turned to quickly face Willow, "We click, right?"

"Me and you? Or you and her?" Willow asked, suddenly hopeful.

"Her, me and her, sorry," Xander said, going back to pacing, and Willow's face fell again. She wondered if she should take Buffy's advice about just going for it. She liked Buffy as much as the next person, but she liked Xander more, and she was pretty sure she was stab herself with a pencil soon if he didn't stop asking her for dating advice. Or maybe she'd stab him. Yeah, that made more sense.

"It's just, she _said_ maybe, in the future, and it's the future now, and she still hasn't said anything. We've been hanging out a lot, too, and she kissed me the other day-"

"She _what?!"_ Willow exclaimed loudly.

"Cheek kiss, I was being cheer-up friend while she had a headache, nothing serious," Xander elaborated, and Willow sighed in relief. She really, really, _really_ didn't want to compete with Buffy over Xander. She was losing as it was, when Buffy wasn't even _playing._ Or was she? Was that why Buffy was winning?

"Anyways, like I was saying, sometimes she _seems_ into me, but then Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome, not to mention _immortal_, comes into the picture and gives her a golden ring with _diamonds_ that spell out her name-"

"Orichalcum," Willow corrected automatically, even as Xander was talking, and he looked at her in confusion.

"Ori what now?" he asked, and Willow looked at him in disbelief.

"Orichalcum," she clarified, "You know, super-gold? Ultra-gold? Can-only-be-made-via-mirrors-and-_volcanoes-_gold?"

Xander paled.

"Oh dear God, I actually know what that is, and he _bought her a ring with it!?"_ his voice rose in pitch as he realized the implications, "I thought the military declared all of it national property for space lasers, or something?"

"Most of it, yeah," Willow nodded, "But a bit of it's still in the private markets, and it's _ridiculously_ expensive, I looked it up last night, and a ring like that would cost at _least_ eighty-five thousand-"

_"Lalalalalala!_" Xander sang, plugging his ears with his fingers, "I don't wanna know! It just makes me feel even _more_ inadequate!"

"You're not-" Willow tried, but Xander wasn't listening.

"I mean, have you ever liked someone, _really_ liked someone, but there's suddenly this person who's way better than you in every way, and you feel sorta guilty about even _trying,_ because it feels like you're trying to cheat them of their happiness?"

_"Yeah, gonna stab you now," _Willow muttered irritably_._

"I mean, did you _see_ his hair?! How does he get it to do that?!"

_"Yep, one more second, then stab!"_

"You say something, Willow?"

"I said hair gel, but probably just a dab!"

"Yeah, dab! More like a pound! And another thing-"

Willow sighed, and nodded, putting on her best 'sympathetic friend' face, and despising herself for being such a coward. She wished she could just switch places with Buffy right now. Life would be _so_ much easier with ultimate divine powers...

**–Buffy, Elsewhere–**

Cold. That's what she feels, first of anything. And hard. She pushes down, and picks herself up off the ground, and looks at her surroundings. A flat, desolate plain stretches in all directions. She looks up, and sees no light, or stars, and briefly wonders what is giving off light, then. Something was off.

"Well, there you are!" a voice exclaims, and she spins around, eyes wide with shock. A tall, slightly pudgy brown-haired man in his mid-to-late thirties was walking towards her.

_"Dad?"_ she asked, dumbfounded. She hadn't seen her father since before her Exaltation. Why was he here now?

"It's me, sweetie," Hank Summers said, looking confused, and a little hurt, "Don't you recognize your father?"

Buffy felt tears welling up in her eyes.

"Where the _hell _have you been?!" she demanded, "You can't just _leave_ for two and a half G_od-damned_ _years_ and then just _show up_ from nowhere, and act surprised that-"

"Oh, that's all?" he laughed, and Buffy clenched her fists in anger, "That's easy: I've been far away from you."

Buffy felt like someone had dunked her head in ice water.

"Wh-what?" she asked, her voice suddenly vulnerable.

"Yep," her father said cheerfully, "I left because I couldn't keep dealing with your melodramatic bullshit day-in and day-out. I'd have kept in touch for Dawn's sake, but then I'd be forced to chat with you every week, and well, I didn't think I could deal with that."

"How could you _say-"_ Buffy began, her nails digging into her palms, feeling her mind beginning to fracture, like an overwhelming force was pressing against it, but her father interrupted her.

"Quite easily," he grinned, "And boy, did I ever dodge a bullet! I mean, a Solar? For a _daughter?_ Like you weren't enough of an air-headed arrogant little twit before!"

_"Shut-up,"_ Buffy ordered coldly, feeling her nails piercing her skin and digging deep into the meat of her palms, "Just _shut-up."_

"Aww, what's the matter?" her father asked in a mocking baby-voice, "Can you not take the fact that you're basically unlovable?"

_"No,"_ Buffy hissed, her entire body trembling with fury, "What I can't _take_ is the fact that some rogue god or demon or whatever the hell you are has the sheer _fucking balls_ to use my _father_ to strike at my self-esteem!"

In a flash of speed she was in front of the apparition and punching it with all of her enhanced strength. The blow caught her faux-father in the cheek and knocked it down into the dirt. Her Anima flared as she stared at the suddenly fearful figure.

"Did you think I was some helpless little girl?" she asked softly as it tried to scurry away from her. She continued her slow walk forward.

"Did you think that it didn't _matter_ if I was a Solar, because you could strike at my mind?" she queried, and her hand shot out and grabbed the specter by the throat, hoisting it up into the air.

"I am the _Chosen of The Unconquered Sun _you _fuckwad!"_ she snarled in its face, "It takes more than some mean little _ghost_ to break my mind! And now, you're going to _fucking die!"_

She dropped the _thing_ onto the ground in front of her and, before it could move, punched it in the chest as hard as she could. Her hands punched through what felt like flesh and muscle and bone until she reached its heart. She clutched the beating organ in her hand and _squeezed._ The thing howled in pain and faded into nothingness. Buffy stood alone in the field, breathing heavily, until a woman's warm, throaty chuckle reached her ears. She spun around, gathering her Essence around her, and faltered as she was faced with perhaps the most exotic beauty she'd ever seen.

Standing before her was a woman, slightly shorter than Buffy, dressed in a gown of flowing emerald. Long, flowing white hair cascaded down her back, and a delighted smile graced that youthful face. Green orbs stared out from her eye sockets, and Buffy felt a great and terrible power radiating from the woman.

**"That was quite a performance, Ms. Summers," **the woman complimented, her voice echoing everywhere and nowhere at once, **"Very entertaining. I knew you wouldn't let me down."**

"Who are you?!" Buffy demanded angrily, "Why did you bring me here?!"

**"I brought you here because a somewhat valuable servant of mine desired your torment and destruction. The spell she used was beyond her ability, so she requested my aid. I thought it might be amusing to watch, so I helped. And I was right."**

"So, what?" Buffy asked, eyes narrowed, "You're going to kill me?"

The woman laughed that beautiful laugh again.

**"Oh, no, Ms. Summers. No, I don't wish to kill you. After all, you show **_**far**_** more potential than the petty sorceress who sought my aid. And I **_**never**_** waste a potential source of fun. No, once we're done talking, you'll wake up in your bed, safe and sound. And, since you killed the sorceress," **the woman pointed to where Buffy's father had stood, **"Two birds, one stone."**

"Okay, so that answers the _why_, I guess," Buffy said hesitantly, "But not the _who."_

**"I have long since discarded my true name, Ms. Summers," the woman smiled, "All that is important is that I like you. However, if you truly need a name, you may call me The Green Lady. Everyone does."**

"Alright, but-"

**"No, no more questions, Ms. Summers. It's time for you to go home. But before you do, I have a little present for you, you can get it on your way out. And keep this little conversation between us, okay? I could get in trouble for helping you like this, so I probably won't be able to ****do it again. Don't worry, though, Solars have good instincts. Just follow your gut, and you'll be fine. Bye now!"**

And then, the world exploded.

** –å2 ŸKréÑhó-**

** Flashes of light, a terrible dragon roaring its rage as arrows of holy light pierced its hide.**

** å2 ŸKréÑhó**

** Pain, her body wracked with it, a dark-haired woman calling her name, as fiery waters submerged her and a twisted, barbed tentacle wrapped around her torso.**

** å2 ŸKréÑhó**

** -Lunar mate for each of you**

** å2 ŸKréÑhó**

** Hi, I'm-**

** å2 ŸKréÑhó**

** Love, a sense of belonging, and more power flowing through her than she would have believed possible.**

** å2 ŸKréÑhó**

** A spear, plunged deep into her heart, tearful eyes staring at her, an overwhelming sense of sorrow and betrayal**

** å2 ŸKréÑhó**

_**Find Angel.**_

_** Find Angel.**_

_** Find Angel.**_

_** å2 ŸKréÑhó**_

__And then she woke up, and knew what she had to do.

**–Angel–**

Angel was awakened from his sleep by a quiet, hesitant knocking on the door. He glanced at the alarm clock by his bed, and saw that it was 2:30 in the morning. He silently got out of his bed, reaching for the quicksilver reaper daiklave, a long, slender double-edged silver sword with a slight hook at the tip, the better for horrific wounds/disarming enemies. Picking it up, he reached instinctively over his shoulder for his short-daiklave, before remembering that the scabbard was still hidden in his shirt, which was on his floor somewhere. He dismissed the weapon as his mind caught up with the situation, and he realized that assassins don't generally knock timidly. He put the weapon down and headed for the door, reaching out with his senses to determine who was knocking.

_Solar. Partner. Mate._

_**Buffy.**_

Angel moved quickly to open the door, before his thoughts even finished, and looked out into the dimly lit hall, where the most beautiful girl in the world stood, in her fuzzy pink pajamas, looking shaken.

"Buffy, what's wrong?" he asked, suddenly worried.

"Can I come in?"she asked quietly, and he nodded and stepped aside, allowing her into the room. He flipped on the light-switch as they walked into his rather empty apartment, and she paused, unsure of something.

"Buffy," he pressed, "Did something happen? Come on, you're scaring me."

She looked at him, eyes filled with uncertainty, and his heart called out for him to help her. He gently lead her over to his couch and sat down with her, and she automatically leaned into him, resting her head against his chest, right over his heart, wrapping her arms around his torso, and a sense of _rightness_ came over him that he hadn't felt since-

"I had a nightmare," she said quietly, and Angel remained quiet, waiting for her to go on, but a thrill of fear ran through him. A nightmare that could shake a Solar-

"I...I think I died."

His heart stopped.

"I...I was fighting someone, and I got stabbed. I saw a woman, with long, dark hair standing over me, crying, calling my name, and I know that someone I cared about had betrayed me, killed me, but not why. And...I remember..._things."_

Angel felt her shudder, and he wanted to scream, to cry, to find a spell that would let him tear the dark memories from her mind. But he didn't. He couldn't remove the memories, and getting upset couldn't help anyone. So he was quiet, and inwardly he vowed to _kill_ those damned Viziers-

"I dreampt about the witch," and Angel twitched in surprise, but the tiny girl resting against him didn't seem to notice.

"She sent some spirit to kill me, in the guise of my dad. It used some spell on me, but I broke free, and killed it. Then, this women, dressed in green-

A freezing hand clutched his heart. If this was what he thought-

"She had long, white hair, and pure green eyes. She called herself 'the Green Lady,' and said that I'd killed the witch. She told me that I was more fun, so she was going to help me. That's when-that's when I died. She told me I'd get a present, but all I saw was a horrible dragon, and a giant monster pulling me into a lake of fire, and a terrible voice talking about Lunar Mates..."

She trailed off for a moment, and then resumed.

"After I died, I saw you, and I felt this...this _urge_ to come see you. I couldn't fight it, I didn't want to, and I don't even _know_ you, but I think about you all the time," Buffy's voice took on a panicked tone, and he felt her begin to hyperventilate, "And I dream about you, and I'm always so _happy_ when you're with me, and I feel like a part of me is missing when you aren't, and now I'm sleepwalking and dreaming of dieing and going to hell, and here I am, in your apartment, in my pajamas, and you aren't wearing a shirt, and am I going crazy, Angel?"

Her last word was said with such fear and desperation that it broke his heart.

"No," he said softly, "This is natural. Horrible, crappy, and no fun at all, but it happens."

"What does?" she asked, "Do you know what this is?"

Angel smiled bitterly.

"Oh, yes, I got to go through it myself. Buffy, those dreams you had were of your past life, they were memories of the Solar who used to have your shard. I used to get them all the time, the first few years after I Exalted," here he sighed, and went on, "Eventually, you'll stop having them, and you'll be able to remember your old life like your current one. Until then, you'll dream about the memories until they sink in properly. It's just something you've got to deal with."

"What about the dreams of you, though-" Buffy tried, but Angel shushed her.

"I'm getting to that," he assured her, "It has to do with the Lunar Mate mentioned in your dream."

Buffy's eyes were fixed on him as she looked up at his face. He took a deep breath and went on.

"Every Solar Shard has a Lunar Mate, a soul-mate, in a very real sense. The bond differs between Exalts, but all have some mystical connection to their partner. It's usually a romantic one, a kind of apology from the gods for sending us to die for them in the Primordial War," Angel smiled in fond remembrance, "They felt bad that they were sending us to die, so they gave us soul-mates, people that dying for wasn't such a bad thing. Sometimes it'd be in the form of a best friend, someone who you could call brother or sister in a far more real sense than mere blood relations. Occasionally, it'd be a friendly rivalry, someone who is your match in all things, who makes you always strive to be better, and who you can never really beat, but that's the whole point of them. Mostly, though, they sent us a romantic partner, our perfect lover, in a very mystical, spiritual sense. Someone who could be all of those things: Lover, best friend, rival, the best of everything."

He felt Buffy sag in sudden relieved understanding.

"That's why you said all those things when we met, and why you looked so hurt-" she whispered.

Angel chuckled at that.

"Yeah, I thought your Shard would react like mine did, that you already would have the memories. I didn't realize it could take so long to activate." Angel deliberately avoided voicing his theory: That Buffy's wasn't _supposed_ to have activated. Next time he saw that green-eyes, two-timing _bitch-_

"I...I feel better," Buffy said softly, in wonder, "Like an ache inside me was just healed, like my mom hugged me when I had a nightmare, like I'm...like I'm safe, and loved, and accepted no matter what. Is that what you feel?"

"Yeah," Angel said quietly, "But, Buffy listen: I don't want you to feel obligated to do anything. I've got a lot more life experience than you, and I won't hold it against you if you want to hold off on-"

"Shut up and kiss me."

And warm lips captured his, and a sense of bliss that he hadn't known in millenia flowed through him, and for the first time in this life, Angel was truly, perfectly happy.

And that was alright.

**–End Chapter–**

** So, questions, comments, concerns?**


	6. Husband Seducing Demon Dance

**A/N: There is an extensive scene in this chapter (2,045 words) that is missing from SpaceBattles. This is because it violates the NSFW Policy. I'm not happy I had to remove it, but once I'd finished the scene, I had to admit it's fairly graphic. It **_**isn't,**_ **however, a Lemon scene, nor is it Pw/oP, or even PwP. I feel that the scene is very important to the characters involved, and it deals with the complications that come with Angel and Buffy's Solar Bond, and the vast age difference between them, as well as the balance of power in the relationship. You can find the full scene on Twisting the Hellmouth, under the pen name InDrk. I highly recommend you read the scene, because otherwise you're going to be VERY confused later on. Anyone without accounts on TtH, feel free to PM me with any questions, comments and criticisms.**

–**Dream Sequence, Three Days Later–**

**A warm, moonlit field of soft grass and white flowers stretches out before her. A light wind blows through her hair, and Buffy closes her eyes and enjoys the sensation of the grass beneath her feet. Everything had been so chaotic lately in the courts lately, what with Desus slowly but surely taking over the nation. Buffy was fairly certain he was using some new charm to take over the younger Solars, but she couldn't prove it, and she didn't want to risk making an enemy of the Second Lord of the Solar Deliberative.**

"**You're late," an amused voice points out, and she smiles. The one person that understood her, that knew what she had to deal with every day-**

_**Running, bright flashes of light. Blazing hate and betrayal, a desert awash with blood. A golden blade swinging out before her, striking the head from a woman's shoulders.**_

_**Pain, an arrow in her shoulder, turning, a curse on her lips, fire in her hand, but the breath is stolen at the sight before her. A young woman, with long, dark hair and deep, black eyes looks upon her with unfathomable sadness as she unleashes a bolt of lightning that sends her sprawling.**_

_**A flash, blood and pain and death, sorrow as her brothers and sisters fall, hate and love for the dark-haired woman as she kills the heretics, smiting them with the power of the Sun. Mortals die by the hundreds as brilliant light burns the flesh from their bones, even while the Star-Born strike out through fate itself, removing chunks of their armies from existence.**_

_**A monstrous figure tackles her, clawing and snarling and punching and kicking, a black-haired tiger, one she knows well, tearing at her throat, even as a massive man with a glowing sun on his head pulls it off, preparing to kill it, she strikes out, killing her savior before he could blink-**_

_**A terrible chill, pure darkness and great golden eyes staring at her through the void, and she knows the true definition of terror, and a monstrous laughing echoes in her mind, as the terrible evil presence weighs down upon her very soul-**_

–**End Dream Sequence–**

Buffy's eyes shot open, panic flaring within her when she realized that she wasn't in her bed. It was a moment later when she realized strong arms were wrapped around her, her head resting on a muscular chest, that she remembered where she was. All of the fear seemed to wash away as she cuddled closer to Angel, admiring the softness of his bed as she reflected on the previous night.

It seemed almost...surreal, now that it was morning. The attack by the witch, the Green Lady, the visions, Angel's revelation...

She smiled to herself as she remembered their first kiss last night. It had been...amazing, incredible. She wondered if it was because they were Exalts, or if _all_ kisses felt like that. She vaguely recalled beginning to fall asleep on him, and him carrying her into the bedroom. She blushed a little to herself, but smiled even wider. True, they hadn't _done_ anything, but it wasn't like they didn't _want_ to-

Angel shifted a little and Buffy grinned as definitive proof of his desire poked her in the thigh. A small part of her mind was still shouting in confusion, stunned that she was in an older man's bed, cuddled up to the man in her PJs, him clad only in sweatpants, completely at ease with his hard penis pressed against her leg. The rest of mind, however, didn't see anything wrong with the situation. It felt _right._ She felt _complete_ for the first time in her life, she felt _comfortable._

She sighed in contentment as she pressed herself even further into Angel's arms, pushing her thigh against him, and getting a small noise from him in his sleep, a strange cross between a growl and a moan. She smiled mischievously as a wicked thought came into her mind.

–**Angel–**

Angel was vaguely aware of the tiny girl in his arms as she shifted against him. He was briefly concerned, but when he didn't get any reaction of shock or embarrassment he assumed she was still asleep. Sleepily, he tried to shift away from her so that she wouldn't wake up to him poking her. As he did so, she shifted as well, and he froze as she pushed herself against him, rubbing him with her thigh, and he let out an involuntary moan as a shiver of pleasure ran through him. He felt her stiffen, and then relax. Before he could move back, however, he felt a small hand snake down from his back and into his sweatpants. Dextrous fingers wrapped around his erection, a soft, warm thumb pressing against the tip, and he closed his eyes and leaned into the sensation. Then common sense caught up with him, and he mentally sighed. He needed to be the adult in their relationship, and that meant _not_ letting her dp stuff like this until they'd had a serious talk about how this was gonna work.

So, reluctantly, he reached down and took her by the wrist, and felt her freeze suddenly, and he mentally tried to come up with something, _anything_ to say.

–**Buffy–**

She froze solid, mortified beyond belief. She couldn't believe what she'd just been caught doing.

"I appreciate the thought, Buffy, but maybe we should talk about this first," came Angel's sleepy voice. Belatedly, she realized that her hand was still on his penis, and she let go suddenly, as if burned, and removed her hand from his pants, blushing furiously.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-I-I was just-you were-I-," she stammered out in a panic, worried she'd offended him, but was cut off by a quick kiss.

"Buffy," he said with a slight smile after breaking the kiss, "It's alright, I'm not mad."

Buffy nearly fainted in relief. As it was, she _did_ allow her head to collapse back onto his shoulder. Then, a new, equally horrifying thought hit her.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked suddenly, scared to raise he head to look him in the eyes, "Oh, God, I didn't hurt you, did I?!"

"Buffy, relax," Angel ordered firmly, "Calm down. Deep breaths."

Buffy nodded meekly, her heart racing, and she closed her eyes and began taking deep, slow breaths.

"Okay, first thing," Angel said quietly, once she'd stopped hyperventilating, "You didn't do anything wrong. Second thing, you _definitely _didn't hurt me-"

"Then why'd you stop me?" came a quiet, confused question, with an undertone of fear and hurt, and he knew she didn't believe him. He sighed, and knew he'd made the right decision to stop her. She was so strong in so many ways, but she was still only fifteen, still just a child.

"Because before we do anything else," he said softly, "We need to work some things out."

"Like what?"

Angel almost smiled at the adorably said question, the young girl's tone all confused innocence, and he _really_ wondered if she realized just how powerful her social abilities were.

"Like how this is going to work, for one," he answered simply. He saw Buffy frown into his shoulder, and, not for the first time, praised Luna for his ability to be aware of anything within his territory. Otherwise, not seeing her facial expressions would be very confusing. Absently, he rested in chin on top of her fully-regrown hair, and inhaled deep of her scent, a sweet, flowery smell that spoke of sunlit fields and cheerful laughter and the sheer beauty of summer. It was the scent of her Essence, of her Anima, the scent that was _Buffy_ at her most basic self. The closest physical scent he could equate it to would be orange blossoms in full bloom, with a potent hint of confederate jasmine, but even that wasn't able to describe the scent of his Solar Mate.

Angel suddenly remembered that she was waiting for an answer, and it struck him just how much he'd missed her like this, kind, considerate, how she was before the Deliberative, before Desus.

Before the War.

"If this is going to work," Angel said finally, "We need to know what we're comfortable with, what we want, what we don't want-"

"I want you," Buffy said instantly, without hesitation, with such utter _conviction_ that he remembered the blond haired champion who'd once challenged Ligier to single combat for Angel's life, in a life long since past. Sorrow welled up within him as he remembered the last time those words had been spoken to him, and of the horrible events that had followed.

_'No. She isn't like that now. This isn't then, this is a completely different context. This is my second chance, this is my repayment for my sins, both then and now. This is my chance to save her.'_

"I know," Angel said simply, betraying nothing of his dark reminisces, "And I want you, as I'm sure you can tell," and he shivered in pleasure as her arms wrapped around his neck, pushing her fabric-covered chest against his bare one, pushing her pelvis against his, and he was surprised to feel his pants front dampening. This was...actually somewhat worrying...

"Buffy, stop," he told her flatly, and even through closed eyes, he saw her grin as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

"I don't want to," she said, her eyes closed as she pressed against him, "and you don't either, so why-"

"Buffy," Angel said through suddenly gritted teeth, memories of horror after horror, a sadistic grin on a beautiful golden face, so like the one in front of him, of the phrase, said over and over every time he'd begged for his mate to stop, every time he'd pleaded for mercy-

_'I don't want to.'_

With great self-control, he prevented himself from throwing her off the bed and through a wall, repeating the inner mantra-

_'She's a different person, she's a different person, she's not trying to hurt me, she's trying to be seductive, she doesn't know, she doesn't remember, she's a different person-'_

"Buffy, this is one of the reasons we needed to talk," he said firmly as he pushed her off of him, sitting up even as every fiber of his being rebelled at him for defying the wishes of his mate-

_'Don't lie to me, you know I can always tell. You want this as much as I do, your very __**being**_ _is rebelling against you for defying me, you fucking little whore, so __**take your fucking clothes off and fuck me!"**_

No sign of his inner torment crossed his mind, no hint of what she had done, what she had once been, and he explained as the older partner teaching the younger, rather than the victim standing up to their tormentor.

"What are-" Buffy looked horribly confused and worried, and a flare of guilt rose in his gut-

_'If she falls again, you'll have way more to be guilty about-__'_

His resolve returned, and he looked her in the eye.

"Buffy, just because you're in a relationship," he elaborated with a stern look, "Doesn't mean you can do whatever you want to the other person. Just because you're my Solar Mate, it doesn't mean you _have_ to have sex whenever I want-"

"But I _do_ want-"

"Which means," Angel said over her protest, "That just because _you_ say _you're _ready, it doesn't mean that _I'm_ ready."

Buffy's eyes widened in sudden understanding.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry, I had no idea you were a virgin too-"

Angel couldn't help it, he burst into a fit of hysterical laughter. It was just such a quintessential _Buffy_ thing to say. Always come to the _most awkwardly incorrect conclusion,_ and have absolutely _no clue_ why the other person was laughing-

"What's so funny?!" she demanded indignantly, and Angel just laughed harder.

"S-sorry," he gasped after a moment, "I-it's just-" he started laughing again, and Buffy glared in response.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm better now," he said at last, and Buffy's glare didn't fade.

Angel met her gaze with a grin, and he remembered why he'd fallen in love with her to begin with: Even in the Primordial War, she never failed to cheer him up when he was down.

"Okay, I'm not a virgin, first off," he clarified, to Buffy's immense confusion, "And second off, by 'ready', I meant for _this_ relationship, I didn't mean sex in general. Relationships are complex, Buffy, and if you rush into things, you can jeopardize things in the long run. It's important not to move too fast, and to always, _always_ respect your partner's wishes. Do you understand?"

Buffy nodded, a thoughtful look on her face.

"Yes," she said finally, "I understand that I don't get relationships at all, so I'm just gonna follow your lead on this one."

Despite himself, Angel smiled and kissed her.

"I suppose that'll do, for now," he shrugged, "Now, we should probably get you home. It's one in the afternoon, and I'm sure your mom's getting worried-" but Angel stopped at the horrified expression on Buffy's face.

"She's going to _kill me!"_

–**Buffy–**

Buffy stood in her living room, watching a master at work. She knew she was good at people stuff, but Angel surpassed even her. They'd come home to find police officers and Giles at her house, her mother frantic with worry, and Buffy was running through her abilities in her mind, trying to find the Charm that might allow her to keep living past the next few minutes, and then Angel walked boldly up to her mother, with his most charming smile on his face, all 'Hi, I'm Angel, we met the other night, you're looking lovely today, Ms. Summers, Buffy was out helping me with some vampire troubles last not, and we lost track of time down in the catacombs, I take full responsibility as senior Exalt, why, no, of course I don't mind signing an autograph-'

And now Giles had surreptitiously done something to convince the police to forget about the incident, Angel was chatting amiably with her mother at the table over a cup of tea, and she and Giles were being politely included in the conversation, the latter still occasionally looking at her with a look that said 'You are in trouble as soon as I get the opportunity to remove us from this conversation', and Buffy couldn't get the memory of what Angel felt like in her hands out of her mind, so she kept blushing, and now-

"Ah, that reminds me," Giles said loudly, "Joyce, Angel, would you excuse us a moment, I need Buffy's opinion on something," and her mother nodded an affirmative, and Angel gave only the slightest glare of pure hatred for Giles, which went completely unnoticed by her mother. She wordlessly followed Giles outside to the porch, shutting the door behind her, and prepared to face the music.

"So, was it everything you thought it would be?" Giles asked coolly, disapproval radiating off of him in _waves._ Buffy winced.

"Um, we didn't actually-"

"Your relationship with your Lunar Mate is not what I am referring to, and please never bring it up in that sense in my presence again, thank you," Giles said rapidly, eyes closed in irritation and discomfort.

"Oh," Buffy blushed again, "Um, in that case, I don't-"

"I was _referring_ to the Cheerleading Squad."

"_Oh,"_ Buffy said in realization, "I'd forgotten about that-" but she stopped talking at the bug-eyed expression of utter disbelief and anger on Giles' face.

"You'd _forgotten-"_ he began to shout, before closing his mouth and taking a deep breath.

"Well, yeah, a witch tried to-"

"I wouldn't think one would simply _forget,_" Giles interrupted acidly, "About something important enough that you would _violate the sanctity _of the free will of a fellow Exalted!"

Buffy's eyes widened as she realized that she'd been caught.

"You...you found out about that then, huh?" she asked with a nervous grin. Giles looked like he wanted to hit her.

"Buffy," he began coldly, "What you did to me was appalling. I was expressing disapproval over something that I had no true power to prevent you from doing. I was attempting, _without_ the use of my Essence or Charms, to persuade you of a certain viewpoint. You were _never_ in any danger from me. And still you decided that, if I wouldn't _willingly_ approve of your activities, you would _force_ me too."

"I-" Buffy started, but Giles continued as if he hadn't heard her.

"I, as a fellow Celestial Exalt, have the _right_ to refuse to agree with you, Buffy," the anger in Giles' voice was becoming steadily more heated, "And you _stole_ that right from me! You _stole_ my right to say 'no' to you, you robbed me of my ability to willingly consent or not! In Sidereal Courts, Buffy, there has evolved a new term for what you did to me: _Mind-rape._ You violated the sanctity of something that _was not yours,_ something precious to me, you invaded my privacy in a _deeply_ intimate sense, for your own convenience. I have _never_, in all my years, been so _very_ disappointed in a student of mine."

"I-I'm, I'm sorry," Buffy said, tears welling up in her eyes as she realized that Giles was _right,_ "I didn't mean to, I didn't realize-"

"No," Giles said coldly, "you _didn't._ Don't come near me for a few days, Buffy. I'm deeply hurt by what you did, and I honestly can't stand to be near you right now."

And with those words, Giles stormed off to his car, started the engine, and drove away, leaving a crying Buffy on the doorstep.

–**Giles–**

It was some two hours later that Giles was relaxing in his chair, reading a good book and waiting for the tea to come to a boil, when a terrifyingly powerful kick shattered the door into splinters as he stormed into Giles' house.

Giles shot out of his recliner as soon as the kick was delivered, Essence flaring around him in indignant, invisible light.

"What is the meaning of-" he began angrily, but was cut off by a vicious right hook that sent him flying into the kitchen table, smashing it to bits.

"_You arrogant self-righteous piece of shit!"_ Angel snarled, grabbing Giles by the hair and throwing him back into the living room, smashing into a bookshelf full of priceless books. Giles gathered his Essence around him and rewove his body's base construction, declaring to the universe itself that he was made not of flesh and bone, but of leather and iron. Thus, he wasn't expecting Angel's Essence-powered kick to the shin to completely shatter the bones in his lower leg in an explosion of agony that sent Giles to his hands and knees. A vicious kick to his ribcage sent him flying into the far-right wall, denting the brickwork and shattering most of her ribs.

"You _lying_, _deceitful_, _cowardly_ _prick!" _Angel roared, and Essence flashed around him as Giles' powerful Charm washed harmlessly over the Lunar. Giles cursed in frustration, and then screamed in agony as Angel stamped, _hard_, on his injured leg, crushing the bones to power and muscle and skin to bloody paste.

"You hypocritical shit-eating _worm," _Angel growled, "Buffy is _locked in her room,_ crying her heart out, because she 'betrayed' you!" Angel kicked Giles hard in the broken ribs, and Giles nearly passed out from the pain.

"I _know_ what you're hiding from her, you scheming little _rat,"_ Angel hissed, and Giles closed his eyes as he put it together. He murmured a name that escaped Angel's hearing.

"Speak up!" Angel snarled mockingly as he yanked Giles up by his hair and slammed the Vizier's head into the wall, "I couldn't hear you!"

"He's a liar!" Giles managed to gasp, "He walks in the shadows, sneaking and plotting, but he cares _nothing_ for her! Not like us!"

"You _knew_ I was her Lunar Mate," Angel growled softly, "And you let her think she was going mad!"

"She didn't ask!"

"_You should have volunteered the information!"_

"_That's not how it works!"_

"_I hate you!"_ Angel screamed, and threw Giles with all his might, sending the sidereal through the leftmost wall and out into the yard. Giles rolled painfully until hitting the fence between his yard and the next, pain tearing through his mind, a burning in his torso and a shortness of breath beginning to scare him. He was _seriously_ hurt.

"I hate you, Rupert Giles, I hate you, Ripper, I you you, whatever the _hell_ your real name is, with all my heart and soul," Angel hissed, voice filled with hate, "I hate you, your peers, and _I hate_ _your_ _entire fucking council!"_

"We-" Giles tried, but Angel blurred and another kick to the ribs sent his mind into yet another spiral of pure agony.

"You killed her!" Angel accused, "You with your wisdom, and your worldliness, and then _you left us to die!_ All of you, with your citadels, and your libraries, and your _fucking Loom,_ you left us to die."

"What are you _talking about?!"_ Giles managed to gasp, and then a very nice leather shoe kicked him straight in the mouth. Pain and the taste of blood burst in his mouth as his teeth shattered and his jaw crumbled into a bloody mess of tooth and tissue and blood and bone.

"I don't know if you remember, and I don't care!" Angel snarled, "All I know is that it's you, and not knowing doesn't excuse the crime. You haven't changed a damn bit! You're still the same arrogant, self-centered, know-it-all holier-than-thou _prick_ who left us to die."

A chill ran through him as he began to see what Angel was saying. But it couldn't be, he could count on one hand the people who knew the previous holder of his Shard...

"You wanna keep secrets and fuck us over again?" Angel snarled, "Fine! But stay the _hell_ away from Buffy while you do! I won't let you set her up to fail, and then guilt trip her, make her try harder and harder, and make her fail _every goddamn time! _I _won't_ let you get close to her if you're just going to repeat the patterns. I _won't_ let you damn her again," he finished in a furious hiss.

Giles tried to speak, but all that happened was that his mouth exploded in pain and he burbled blood.

"Stay out of her life, or I swear, by Luna, the Maidens, and The Unconquered Sun himself, that I _will_ kill you, Kejak."

–**Angel–**

Some twenty minutes later, Angel stopped his furiously aimless walk through the park as a familiar sense of terrible, final power, of cold graves and infinite darkness gathering in the depths of the night weighed down on his shoulders, and he closed her eyes in mild annoyance. He wondered what had happened _now._

"Now, _that,_" came the extremely amused Voice, "was truly a sight to see. I've been wanting to do that to old Ripper for decades."

"So why didn't you?" Angel asked, mildly curious despite his determination to remain in a bad mood. He'd never seen Voice this animated. Come to think of it, he'd never actually _seen_ Voice at all...

"There's a reason he's called Ripper, you know," Voice pointed out dryly, "And if you hadn't blocked his charm, you'd have found out first hand. Ripper has an...interesting set of abilities. Nothing compared to yours, of course, but we can't all be you."

"Have you been spying on me?!" Angel demanded angrily as Voice's words registered through his Giles-induced hate-haze.

"No, on Giles," Voice said with a chuckle, "I'm not into suicide."

"So, why are you here, then?" Angel asked.

"The Master did something unbelievably stupid, and you're about to yell at me for not telling you first."

"What'd he do?"

"The Day Caste is in town, along with a few favored minions. They've set up a base in a cave beneath a lot where nothing grows, over near the south end of town. The lot is full of dead evergreens, you can't miss it."

"How do you _know_ all this stuff, anyway?"

"How do you know how to punch stuff so hard it explodes?"

"Touche," Angel conceded, "In that case, what do you recommend I do?"

"Get Buffy, and bring her to the lot. I'll meet you there. We need to take her out before the Lion's forces get here. I would _much_ prefer to fight one Abyssal than two."

"We'll be there by six," Angel promised.

"Two hours, then. Don't keep me waiting. I'm serious, I don't know how long I could remain undetected just standing there, and I stand no chance without you. And I really, really don't want to be captured by the Day Caste. I've heard..._things_...about this one."

"I'll be there right at six," Angel assured Voice, and, with a blur of speed, he was off.

**–Buffy–**

Buffy lay back on her bed, staring red-eyed up at the ceiling. The enormity of what she'd been doing was fully hitting her. And it hadn't just been Giles. Her mom, back at the hospital, the doctor with the pamphlets, both Xander and Willow, more than once. How could she have been so thoughtless?

_**"It happens to the best of us. What's important is what you do to fix it."**_

__Buffy jumped back off of her bed in an instant, staring at the figure sitting on the edge of her bed, head cocked to the side, staring at her quizzically. It was...her. Except not. It's skin and clothes and hair were all pitch black, as though forged of darkest shadow. It's eyes were grey, smoky orbs, staring oddly at her. She hadn't even noticed it materializing.

"Who are you? How did you get in here?!" she demanded, anger in her voice.

_**"I live here,"**_ it answered simply.

"No, you don't-" Buffy began, but the-the _thing-, _cut her off.

_**"Here, in your head,"**_ it clarified, _**"I'm your conscience."**_

"Sure," Buffy snorted in disbelief, "Pull the other one, it's got bells on it."

_**"Buffy," **_it said, smiling slightly, _**"Consciences aren't bright, cheery little crickets by nature. A better term, perhaps, would be 'Devil's Advocate', and yes, it **__**is**_ _**a rather damning name, isn't it?"**_

"Are you...reading my mind?" Buffy asked hesitantly, pretty sure it wasn't. She could _always_ feel other influences, but this time, nothing.

_**"Yes, and no. The Solar Exalted are more subject to...I suppose melancholy might be right? The word I'm looking for is sadness-stemming-from-lack-of-surety-about-rightness-of-one's-own-**__**actions, than the other Exalted. You don't know the term, so neither do I," **_it said,_** "So, anyways, The Unconquered Sun put me, or us, into the Shards. We're a sort of metaphysical program that is the opposite of your basic personality, so we can argue from an alternative perspective than you, giving you a look at the bigger, or smaller, if necessary, picture-"**_

__"Wait wait wait," Buffy interrupted, "slow down: Are you telling me you look all evilly because you're my _shadow?"_

Shadow-Buffy smiled.

_**"Not just **__**your**__** shadow. I'm **__**everyone's**__** shadow! That's how I can match different personalities: Because I can access all of them! I'm the Shadow Of All Things, if you will."**_

__Buffy nodded slowly, frowning. This was making...a disturbing level of sense, for something so ridiculous. Then again, she could totally swim in acid if she wanted to, so who was she to judge?

Seeing her silence, Shadow-Buffy went on.

_**"Look, you screwed up, that's true. You cried, you felt bad, and now, it's time to stop dwelling on it."**_

"I _raped-_" Buffy began, but Shadow-Buffy shushed her.

_**"No, Giles was being over-dramatic, and you know it. Had you used a permanent Charm? Yeah, that'd be a lot more like rape. But you messed with him for a few hours. And the mortals? Morally, they just don't matter."**_

__"How can you-!"

_**"Let me rephrase," **_Shadow-Buffy cut her off, _**"You are a Solar. You're responsible for EVERYONE. ALL mortals. ALL Exalted. ALL sentient, non-demonic life. You are given a LOT of leeway as far as morality goes, because you are expected to do **__**so much**__** good throughout your life that it outweighs whatever evil you might do. I'm not saying that what you did was **__**okay,**__** just that it isn't that **__**bad**__** in the long run."**_

__"That still doesn't-" she tried, but once more Shadow-Buffy interrupted.

_**"It does,"**_ it said, _**"It really, really does. When I say leeway, I mean it, in a **__**very**__** literal sense. When you go to the Underworld for judgment, you will be judged by a different scale. With most people, their lives are judged by a mix of intent and results. But, for Solars, the results are **__**guaranteed,**__** in the end, to be, ultimately, positive. So Solars are judged **__**entirely**__** by intent. No matter what harm you do, Buffy, you are, by virtue of being a Solar, **__**guaranteed**__** to do more good than harm through your actions. **_

__Shadow-Buffy looked her right in the eyes, a very serious look on her dark face.

_** There have been Solar **__**sociopaths**__** who, when they went to be judged, were found to have done **__**far**__** more good than evil. But they were still condemned, because their **__**intent**__** was to hurt people. The good was incidental. Because you're a hero, sometimes you'll have no choice but to do bad things for the greater good. Because you're fallible, you'll make mistake. Because you're so powerful, those mistakes will cause more damage than mortals who might make the same error. It isn't your fault that so much more harm was caused than if you weren't an Exalt, so you can't be judged by results that you were basically **__**forced**__** into. So, Solars **__**have**__** to be judged by intent. Otherwise, you'd **__**all**__** go to hell."**_

Buffy's spirits began to rise as she followed Shadow-Buffy's logic.

"So, because we've got more responsibilities than mortals," Buffy said slowly, "We get an equal boost to leniency for our mistakes?"

Shadow-Buffy smiled and clapped her hands.

_**"You've got it!"**_ she exclaimed, _**"And that's exactly why The Unconquered Sun put me here! Just don't worry about it so much. As long as you have good intentions, every thing will work itself out."**_

__"Thanks," Buffy smiled slowly, "I actually feel a lot better."

_**"Good, that means I'm happy too!"**_

__"So, do you have a name?" Buffy asked curiously, "Because I've been calling you 'Shadow-Buffy' in my head this entire time."

Shadow-Buffy thought for a moment.

_**"Call me...Emily Dickinson. I've always liked her poems, at least the ones you've read," **_Shadow-Buffy replied with a proud smile, _**"But I have to go now, I'm using up your Essence to communicate with you like this. And don't be worried if you find you can't tell anyone about this conversation. The Unconquered Sun added that to make sure Luna and the Maidens didn't get mad at him for not giving the same power to **__**their**__** Exalted."**_

"Okay, but will I ever see-" Buffy started to say, but suddenly, Emily was gone, and Buffy was by herself again.

She smiled, and decided to go downstairs and get something to eat. She was suddenly very hungry.

–**Xander–**

Xander was whistling a happy tune as he walked down the street of what he affectionately called 'pawn shop lane'. It was the best place to go for bargains, and Xander knew some of them carried old comic collections. Those were always good for a look. Then, a voice from the alley he'd just passed made him jump a few inches.

"Well, look at what we have here," a cooing female voice came from behind him, and Xander spun around, and saw the second most beautiful woman he'd ever seen stepping towards him. She was tall and pale-skinned, with big dark eyes and beautiful black hair than ran down past her shoulders. A skintight leather outfit ran down from her collarbone to just below her hips, clinging tightly to skin. A small zipper between her thighs sent implications and blood far south of Xander's brain. Her breasts were barely covered by the leather, with the inner sides completely visible, the nipples poking against the restrictive material. An air of sensuality and domination poured from the woman, and Xander heard alarm bells ringing in the back of his mind, but then the woman drew closer, looking him in the eyes, and suddenly he forgot what he was thinking about.

"A lost little dolly, looking for a lovely treat," the woman went on, clearly away of his train of thought, obvious as its destination in his pants was making itself, "Does the dolly want a treat, hmm?"

Xander felt a rush of mixed embarrassment and excitement as her gaze traveled down towards his groin, and her eyes lit up with delight.

"Ooh, I think he does!" she exclaimed happily, and clapped her hands.

Xander finally managed a complete thought, and responded.

"Umm, I don't have any money," he managed lamely, but to his surprise, the lady just laughed. She leaned close to whisper in his ear.

"_Neither do I, but that's never stopped me!"_ and then she snapped her teeth playfully by his ear, making a 'rah!' sound, and giggling, and Xander found a smile grow across his face.

"So, dolly, would you like to have some fun?" the woman asked eagerly, her big black eyes bright with anticipation.

"I like fun," Xander managed to say, and then she grabbed his hand and pulled him into a nearby alley, pushed him against the wall and captured his lips in a passionate kiss. He moaned into her lips as she pressed her thigh against his groin, when a sudden chill and bright light made him open his eyes. He stared into twin black abyss' as a black circle on her head glowed with the absence of light. He had just enough time to start to scream as shadows engulfed him and all fell into cold and terror and death.

–**End Chapter–**

**This...this was gonna happen to him sooner or later...**


	7. Impeccable Patterned Deployment

** A/N: I'm taking some liberties with a certain Anima banner in this chapter. I have no reason other than that I don't feel that the canon effect does the Exalt in question justice. You'll know which one I mean at the Reveal, as I'm calling it.**

** A/N2: Also, Angel doesn't have the Silver Tattoos, just FYI. No other Lunars existed to give them to him.**

** A/N3: There's a call-out to Keychain of Creation somewhere in this chapter. First person to find it and point it out gets to ask one background-related question about the story, and get a factual, non-evasive answer.**

** –Xander–**

Darkness, was the first thing he became aware of as consciousness returned. Pain was the second. It struck him in an intense wave of cold and stabbing pain, like blades of ice coursing through his blood, shredding his muscles and veins, and he shivered and tried to scream, but he was too weak to move. He tried to open his eyes, but they wouldn't move any more. It was then that he realized that his eyes were open. He just couldn't move his head. Dimly, through a shadowy haze, he could make out a stone floor, but the pain was making it too hard to think.

"Well, well, well," a bored voice observed, "Look who's up."

"Wh-whe..." Xander tried to speak, but his mouth was too tired to move, and he was shivering too much anyways.

"The closest thing to Hell you'll find on God's green Earth," came the uncaring response, "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here. If I still had my soul, I'd probably feel bad for you."

"Wh-who..." he tried again, but gasped as his diaphragm spasmed in agony, cutting off his words.

"I'm nobody. Some schmuck who had the incredibly bad luck to pick up a vampire chick at the Bronze. Names Parker, I couldn't care less to meet you."

"Xan-Xander," Xander managed to gasp, hoping to get _something_ useful out of his jailer, if he could keep the guy talking...

"Like I said, I have absolutely zero fucks to give. But if Drew tells you to do something, you fucking do it, or you end up like...well, you."

"Dr-drew?" Xander asked weakly after the moments pause it took to gather enough strength to speak again.

"'The One Who Drew In Blood And Tears'," Parker quoted, and Xander could _hear_ the eye-roll in his voice, "Some Abyssal-whatever who controls a big fucking torture coven. She collects attractive guys to fuck to death and turn. Guys she doesn't fuck...well, like I said: torture coven. Some advice: Don't resist. Don't try to be brave. Scream like a little fucking bitch at every turn, and after a few days, beg her to kill you. By that time, she'll be starting to get bored, and she's got some weird death cult thing going on where she feels like she _has_ to kill the people who beg for it, and I mean _really_ beg for it."

"Don't...don't...wanna die..." Xander tried to protest, but suddenly his head was pulled up, and through the shadowy blackened tunnel vision his eyes were reduced to, he was able to make out a pair of hateful brown orbs on a pale, handsome young face. He felt a twinge of pity as he realized that this poor bastard couldn't have been much older than Xander himself when he'd been turned.

_"Do you have any fucking clue what she'll do to you?!"_ Parker hissed, "She will _skin your dick and fuck you!_ You ever heard of the Pear? It's this pear-shaped hunk of metal that she sticks up your ass and opens like a flower! She'll whip your back raw, and literally _rub salt_ into the wounds! She has a _thing_ for eyes! I was lucky that she just fucked me to death and let her minions turn me! I've seen shit here that you _can't even fucking imagine!_ But, hey! You wanna endure a hell that would make Hell's legions recoil in horror? Be my fucking guest, I'm _done_ trying to help you."

The powerful hand let his chin fall back to his chest, and footsteps returned to whatever he'd been sitting on before. Another wave of cold agony rushed through Xander, and he began praying, hoping that whatever divinity that gave Buffy her powers would be able and willing to pass along messages.

** –Willow–**

"I'm glad to hear that you're having fun with your dad, Amy," Willow said into her phone, leaning back on her white comforter, smiling as she caught up with her old friend, "You meet any surfer guys in L.A. yet? Wait, hold on, I'm getting another call-" Willow pressed a button on her bedside phone seat, and switched lines.

"Hello?"

"Is this the Rosenburg residence?" a male voice with a Scottish accent demanded urgently.

"Ye-yes, this is Willow Rosenburg, who is this?" Willow asked, taken aback at the man's tone.

"I'm an associate of Angel's, you need to get a message to him: The Dusk isn't coming, it's_ there._ The Day called in reinforcements."

"Um, hold on, let me get a pencil-" Willow said, flustered, but unwilling to question a message for Angel. Someone was probably in danger.

"No time, some kid's gonna die horribly, _tonight,_ if Angel doesn't get this message. He's gonna go after the Day, but he _needs_ to be prepared for the Dusk. I think he's with Buffy right now, the vision wasn't clear, but if you contact her, you'll get Angel."

"Um, who should I tell him the message is from, if he asks?" Willow asked, phone nestled between her ear and should as she scribbled down the information anyway. She'd had the pen and paper at her side, and she was a quick writer.

"Oh, yeah, that's probably important. Name's Doyle, we go way back. Now hurry! Some Xander kid's getting tortured as we speak!"

"Okay, I'll-_wait, Xander's being tortured?!"_ Willow exclaimed in a panic as the name made its way to her brain, but the dial tone was her only answer. Willow quickly hung up the phone and dialed Buffy's number.

"Hello, this is Dawn, resident nothing of the Summers' residence, how can I direct your call?" came a petulant girl's voice.

"Dawnie, it's Willow, Xander's in trouble, get Buffy!" Willow shouted urgently, she had no time for Dawn's sulking.

"I can't, she left with Angel just ten minutes ago," Dawn said, immeditately worried, "What happened, is he hurt?"

"Yes, and I need to tell them how to help him, where did they go?!" she demanded, inwardly cursing in panic and fear.

"Something about a Christmas Tree lot, where nothing grows, or something?" Dawn said hesitantly, "I'm not sure, they were asking Mom for driving directions, but I wasn't paying much attention!"

"Damn!" Willow cursed aloud, ignoring Dawn's gasp at the normally polite-spoken girl's exclamation and dropping the phone. Willow had a vague idea of where Dawn was talking about, but it was a forty-minute walk! Then, Willow remembered that her mother kept spare keys beneath the hood, just in case.

**–Buffy–**

Buffy was sitting quietly, a worried look on her face, as Angel drove her mother's car at breakneck speeds through the town. She ignored the forces attempting to shift her in her chair as Angel made dangerously sharp turns at highway speeds in residential areas, casually defying physics as only Solar Exalted could. Angel himself was also left untouched by the motion of the vehicle, but probably because he was using his power to prevent the car from breaking under the strain he was putting on it. After a few minutes of driving, a sudden silver light began to shine from Angel's forehead as his caste mark lit up, and she closed her eyes and breathed deep of his comforting presence. She had no words to truly describe the feelings he woke within her, but if she had to try, she would call him soft and unyielding, with all the strength and power of a mighty mountain and all the precious beauty and brittle hardness of a diamond.

A slight breath left her as she began to unwind. The silver glow intensified, and she could _feel_ his love for her as a palpable thing, a mighty presence reaching out from his Anima, comforting her, filling her with a sense of his power, a glimpse of the terrifying might of the elder Lunar Exalt. She could feel his unspoken reassurance, that Xander _would_ be rescued, that she was _not_ going to lose her friend, not on his watch, and Buffy believed him. She couldn't imagine the power it would take to fight Angel, to force him to back down. She didn't have it, Giles didn't have it, she didn't think _anyone_ had it. Calmed and reassured, Buffy forced her thoughts away from how Xander might be suffering, and onto her preparations for the battle.

The Day Caste Abyssal, according to Angel's informants, was specialized in Unnatural Mental Influence and a method of fighting called Laughing Wounds Style. Angel said he didn't think she was in danger from the mental assaults, but the physical combat would be grueling. He told her to take care of any vampires they might encounter, but to leave the Abyssal to him. He assured her that he was well-versed in his own martial arts, and that he'd killed the previous Day Caste in Vietnam, so he was familiar with their abilities. He'd also cautioned her about a powerful blond vampiress called Darla. Darla was an adept student of mortal martial arts, and powerful in her own abilities as a vampire. Darla could use a form of dodging that let her turn into a shadowy mist, completely evading any ability so long as she was fighting for something she felt was important to her goals, whatever they may be. This in addition to the ability to grow shadowy claws, superhuman speed and reflexes, vampiric sense Charms and deadly fangs. Buffy knew she should utilize brute force to overpower Darla's skill advantage; as powerful as the vampiress was, she was no match for a Solar Exalted. Buffy mentally cataloged the abilities taught to her by Giles, months ago. Fists of Iron Technique, Spirit Strengthens the Skin, Sledgehammer Fist Blow-

The car stopped suddenly and with a vaguely disconcerting lack of movement or jostling. Buffy broke out of her reverie to look around the area. There was no grass growing in the abandoned field they'd pulled into, nothing but dirt and long dead trees. Angel wordlessly stepped out of the car, still glowing brightly, and Buffy followed suit, her own Caste Mark flaring into view as she proclaimed to the universe that no longer was her skin mortal flesh, nor her muscle made of tissue, she declared, by the authority of The Unconquered Sun, that she was forged of strongest steel and that mere mortal blows were not enough to pierce her defenses. Essence flared as her skin strengthened, armoring her proof against arrows and bullets, against sword and axe, against all but the fiercest blows of the Exalted.

Angel's Anima flared again, and Buffy knew he was similarly armoring himself.

"So, where are they?" Buffy asked, searching for any sign of...well, anything, but finding none. Angel didn't answer for a moment, and Buffy knew he was searching for any sign of their foes.

"I-" he began, but a sudden, terrible presence decended on Buffy's shoulders, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Something ancient and terrible was here, something older than she could imagine. She saw, in a brief unconscious flash of images, millenia of death of old age, gravestones in their billions eroding and succumbing to the ravages of time, she saw stars growing dim and imploding as the eons depleted their fuel sources, she saw the gods themselves wasting away without their followers to believe in them, she saw the heat death of the universe as all fell into entropy and a singular, black nothingness, with one single being remaining, as it watched the last proton wink out of existence, and she knew that the messenger of this vast power was _here,_ and she nearly quailed before the presence, before-

_Impossibly bright light, shining from the nothingness, perfection incarnate, that which will never decay, never die, shining eternal in the night, a Shard of Celestial Power, eternal and unending-_

"It's about time you arrived," came a reproachful voice from the shadows, even as Buffy stood tall against that ancient presence, defying the inexorable march towards oblivion as only the Chosen of the Sun could do, and all was made clear again.

_She was Perfection Incarnate._

"Sorry we're late," came Angel's return, and Buffy smiled as she felt power flowing through her, raising her tall above her foes, perfect grace pouring into her limbs, and she _knew_ she would succeed this day.

"The entrance to the pit is over to the left, a hole covered with branches. There are about fifty vampires down there, along with the Day Caste, and perhaps a dozen mortal prisoners. I don't think Xander has been harmed, yet. I think he's being saved, but I'm not sure. They almost caught me earlier, and I had to flee back out here."

"We'll save him," Buffy said firmly, and Angel nodded.

"Yes," he said, "we will. But we need to hurry."

Suddenly, the presence receded, and a humanoid shape appeared before them, covered in shadow, hiding its face.

"I agree," the shape said, and Buffy couldn't place the voice. It was just...a voice. No accent, no indicator for male or female, just...words, "Now follow me."

The shadowy figure walked ahead, and Buffy and Angel followed until it reaches a small patch of grass and twigs. The shadow jumped onto the patch, and vanished. Buffy blinked, and Angel reached out and squeezed her hand.

"This'll be tough," he warned softly, "But you're a Solar. And I'm your Lunar Mate. There's gonna be a lot of bad stuff down there, but just remember: We're the Chosen of the Gods. This is literally what we were born to do. You'll be fine, as long as you keep your head."

Buffy nodded, and a determined look fixed itself on her face. She returned Angel's grip, and then both Ascendant Sun and Burning Moon stepped forward, and fell into the darkness.

**–Xander–**

It seemed like he had spent an eternity hanging suspended in his chains, cold piercing through him, sapping his energy and yet making sleep impossible at the same time. It had gotten to the point that thinking was just too difficult, and he wondered if he was dead. He was dimly aware of voices around him, and then of movement. Weight on his limbs started to fade, and he felt strength beginning to return to his limbs, and realized that the darkness in his vision was fading, and things were becoming clearer.

He realized after a moment that he was being dragged along a cold marble hallway by chains binding his arms. He tried to reorient himself, but the cold was still present in his mind, even as warmth began to return. He mumbled something unintelligible, and something near him laughed. Words he couldn't make out were spoken in taunting tones, and he decided to be quiet. Something in his mind was telling him to conserve his strength. Something bad was going to happen soon, he could feel it.

Finally, after what might have been an hour and might have been a few seconds, the dragging ceased. Strong arms pulled him off of the floor and pushed him against a cold stone slab. His arms were pushed up and he felt cold steel click into place around his wrists, and then around his legs. He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs, and could barely make out words being said by his captors.

"-inject him-wake him up a bit-"

"-is that safe-"

"-if he can't scream, we'll be the ones-"

"-fine, fine-"

A sharp pain in his arm brought him further back into reality, and a hot, burning warmth began to rush through him, painful but welcome after the eternity of cold, and the cobwebs were quickly burnt from his mind, the darkness removed from his vision, and nearly vomited as a sickening stench of blood and fear hit his nostrils. He looked up, and nearly fainted in sheer terror as he took in the sight before him.

Two vampires were standing in front of him, their leering demonic faces horrible enough, but they were a mere sideshow compared to the rest of what he was seeing.

He was in a dark room, maybe three times the size of his parent's basement. The only light in the room came from a burning coal-pit in the middle of the room, just behind the vampires, and the glowing orange light illuminated a scene from his darkest nightmares. There were several long tables, each one covered with various blades, whips, and instruments of torture. He saw a rack on one side of the room, as well as an Iron Maiden, and a weird bull-looking statue near what looked like a furnace. The walls were lined with various blunt, unpleasant looking instruments, and bloodstains covered the floor and walls, leading to a small drain in the floor. He could make out a set of power tools on the floor beneath one of the tables, as well as what looked like a cup of clear liquid that Xander really hoped was just water.

Just then, the door at the far end of the room opened, and the dark haired beauty from before walked into the room, carrying an air of pain and horror along with her. The vampires made a hasty exit, and Xander was left alone with the madwoman.

She didn't seem to notice him as she examined the various devices on the tables, humming a little tune as she picked up a large dagger, examined it, and placed it carefully back down. Xander waited in terrified anxiety, dreading the pain to come.

Finally, the woman picked up a small, black handled metal rod, and pressed a button on the bottom. He watched in horror as it began to slowly glow red hot. Still humming, with a happy little smile, she reached out with a fingernail and absently slashed open his shirt. Xander was frozen in fear as her watched the glowing metal draw closer and closer to his right nipple.

Then she flipped the device in her hand and stabbed it deep into his right thigh.

His screams echoed throughout the chamber as the stench of burning flesh filled his nostrils and he thrashed against his restraints, howling in primal agony as his torturer laughed in delight, and Xander couldn't believe that something could _hurt this much-_

**–Willow–**

Willow carefully drove along the evening roads, anxiously wondering if she should be ignoring the speed limits. She had gotten her learner's permit some six months prior, and had been practicing her driving with her mother, but she was technically allowed to drive, and she knew if she died in a crash, the Angel would _never_ get the information. Still, she thought as she turned into the main roads, it was an emergency, and if she was too late, then information wouldn't be helpful for anyone-

Her world exploded in noise and glass and movement as an SUV plowed into the passenger side of Willow's mother's minivan and Willow knew no more.

**–?–**

_**"Well," a voice echoed through the darkness, "That's just plain unlucky."**_

_** "Yes, especially since she's the one who'll-**_

_** "Yes, yes, I know."**_

_** "You could Exalt her."**_

_** "She wouldn't accept, even to avoid death."**_

_** "Then, may I?"**_

_** …**_

_** "Fine. Somehow, though, I think that you may have planned this."**_

_** "My love, would I **__**really**__** do such a thing?"**_

_** "Yes."**_

_** "Touche."**_

_** A pause.**_

_** "Alright, she'll live."**_

_** "She'd better."**_

__**–Voice–**

Silently, he moved through the dark, marble floored halls of the hidden cave. He knew this place of shadow and evil, and he knew the forces making it their own. This did nothing to halt his advance as he strode through the ranks of vampires, an unnoticed shadow to their perception, even as he stabbed out with his ironwood stake, leaving explosions of dust in his wake. Shouts of panic followed his path, as the abominations sought that which was slaying them, but none would find him. He was the master of his Fate, and theirs as well. He willed that he would not be seen, and so he remained unnoticed. He told the world that he was immaterial to these creatures of shadow, and so he phased through them, pausing only to pass his stake through their hearts.

A sense of terrible purpose filled these unholy halls in his wake, the presence of one who is the Herald of Endings, bringing that most terrible force of entropy and death to these deathless creatures. Shadows could be driven by the Light of the Sun, the Sun could be drowned beneath overwhelming Terrestrial power, which could in turn die by the Moon, who could only shine so long as there was a Sun to illuminate it, Battles could be lost, Serenity disrupted, Secrets revealed, Journeys would eventually come to a close, but one fact would always hold true:

All things must End in Time. Nothing was eternal, nothing could defy the ravages of age forever. Terrestrials, Solars, Lunars, Sidereals, Infernals and even Abyssals would eventually succumb to the nothingness of oblivion at the end of time. But after all of those forces were gone, there would remain one last being to End the Ending Itself.

He served that power. He was the Chosen of Endings, and his very presence brought low the Mighty under the Weight of Infinity. These abominations believed themselves deathless, immune to the power of Endings. He would prove them wrong. No wall would bar time itself, no defense was proof against Eternity. He was Entropy Incarnate, and he would not be denied.

He would End these monstrous things hat sought to hasten the world's Fate. He would rescue the Solar's friend, for the boy was important. He had seen his Fate, and knew that he could not allow the child to die this day. His End was not yet at hand.

**–Buffy–**

Buffy had to admit, there was something _deeply_ satisfying about killing these things. They threw themselves at her, and their blows broke upon her skin. She saw one readying a crossbow, and allowed the bolt to shatter against her skull, leaving only a bruise in return. In a blur of movement, she closed with the bowman and drove her fist into its chest, punching its heart out the other side of its body and killing it in a burst of dust.

Beside her, Angel was slashing out with silvery claws extending from his fingers, tearing through the hearts of the creatures and reducing them to dust. It was the effort of perhaps ten seconds to kill all fifteen vampires in the room they'd appeared in. Once the monsters were all dead, Buffy took the time to get a glimpse of her surroundings.

It certainly didn't look like they were in a cave. The ceiling extended up easily three or four stories, almost like the roof of a large church. The floor and walls were made of white marble, and pews of black wood were lined in twin rows of fifty, leading up to the platform that she and Angel had materialized on. There were large double-doors on both sides and the end of the room, and Buffy was _certain_ that this was some sort of demonic church.

Angel suddenly jerked his head, looking towards the leftmost doors, an expression of panic on his face.

"Angel, what-" she began to ask, but he grabbed her and everything blurred as he ran through the doors and down a massive white hallway.

"I just heard Xander screaming," he said shortly, "From this direction. We've got to hurry-"

And then Buffy was thrown forward, bouncing harmlessly along the cold, hard floor for a few yards before catching herself and jumping up. Angel was already standing up from where he'd tripped, and was glaring at the cause of the accident.

A young blond woman dressed in a dark dress returned his glare with a pleasant smile, stepping towards him.

"Hello, Angelus," she greeted, "It's so _nice_ to see you-"

Angel blurred and the woman didn't even have time to scream before he tore her head from her shoulders and reduced her to a pile of dust.

"Who-" Buffy began, but Angel cut her off.

"Darla," he said flatly, and Buffy nodded. She was beginning to realize that there was a lot more to Angel than he had told her, and she resolved to ask him about Darla later. For now, though, Xander took precedence.

**–Voice–**

He moved swiftly through the now empty halls. He smiled slightly as he passed through the dusty halls left by Buffy and Angel. It was unfortunate that they'd arrived so far apart, but he supposed it had worked out. After all, he'd been able to clear the rearguard vampires down in the main torture chambers, and this way Buffy didn't risk a breakdown. That had been a great concern of his for a long while, and it had grown to a truly distracting issue tonight. If Xander had been tortured already, they risked a great deal if it caused Buffy to break. The girl was still young, and he was certain that her primary Flaw fell under her empathy for others, and a catatonic Solar was an immense liability on the battlefield-

Suddenly, something struck him in the gut and sent him flipping over as though he'd ran into an iron bar at high speeds on a cartoon. He landed on his back, _hard,_ and he felt a truly terrifying presence approach, a monstrous aura promising death and pain, and he heard footsteps approach.

"Well, well, well, I'll be a son of a gun!" a deeply southern voice declared affably, as though it had unexpectedly met an old and dear friend at the grocery store, "If it isn't a Chosen of Endings! It's been awhile since I killed one of you fellas'!"

He suddenly appeared on his feet, preparing to face his opponent, but a vicious right hook sent him flying into the wall with a crash. He fell limply to the floor, cracking his head on the marble and sending stars bursting behind his eyes. He groaned as black light filled the halls. Of course. The Dusk was here.

**–Angel–**

Angel moved with great speed, and it took only moments to cover nearly a mile of hallways. Xander's agonized screams grew louder as they neared their destination, and he could feel Buffy's mixed grief and hatred, emanating through her Essence and nearly overwhelming his senses. He couldn't blame her. She remained still and focused, though, and finally they arrived outside of a black steel door, deep within the structure, behind which Xander was still screaming. Buffy leapt from his arms as soon as he stopped, and he marveled at the power of her kick, which tore the soul-steel door from its hinges and sent it crashing into the room. A powerful, hideous stench met both of their noses, and he saw Buffy retch.

The smell was of burning flesh and spilled blood, of sweat and pain and fear, and it was overpowering. Angel ran into the room after Buffy, and nearly vomited.

Xander was thrashing madly against the stone slab he was chained to while a woman held a glowing brand to his chest. Numerous deep knife wounds were cut into his chest and arms, and Angel could see a horribly burnt wound on his leg that looked like someone had stabbed him with a soldering iron. The woman turned to face him and Buffy, a mad grin on her face, and Angel's heart stopped.

She'd changed quite a bit, he absently noticed. Not outwardly, she was still the pale raven-haired beauty Angelus had been so enamored with, but inwardly, he could _feel_ the darkness pulsing out from her soul. Gone, too, were her conservative Victorian clothes, replaced with a dark, revealing leather bondage outfit. Gone was the fragile, delicate beauty of Drusilla Keeble, replaced with a darkly radiant creature of terrible power and infinite cruelty. Angel knew that, if Angelus could see her now, he'd have fallen in love in a heartbeat.

"Daddy!" the Abyssal Exalt, for that was surely what his once-child had become, exclaimed delightedly, "You've come to visit me! Could you hear the darkness calling, calling out in song? I could, and so could Grandmummy. She came to visit, and we had _such_ fun, daddy!"

"Drusilla," he greeted softly, and noticed out of the corner of his eye that Buffy was staring at Drusilla with a hate he hadn't seen in those green eyes since the days of the Terrestrial War. An ancient terror crept up his spine as he remembered out often it had been directed at him.

"I'm going to kill you," she stated flatly, trembling with rage, _"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"_

"Uh-oh," Drusilla grinned, "Daddy's new baby bird is _angry_ with me. Won't you help me, Daddy?"

"I should have sought you out a long time ago, Dru," Angel sighed, "I should have killed you long before this. It was a mistake to allow you to live this lone. I'm here to rectify that mistake."

"Angel, how the hell do you know this bitch?" Buffy demanded, watching the exchange with mounting confusion, clenching and unclenching her hands in anticipation of the fight to come.

"She's my...daughter, I suppose would be the term," Angel replied, stepping to the side, ever so slightly, preparing to grab one of the daggers and reshape it into a worthy weapon. He _really_ wished he had remembered to get his Daiklave-

Buffy blurred and suddenly Drusilla was thrown through the door behind him, and Buffy was in front of Xander, tearing apart his restraints with her bare hands. Drusilla rushed back into the room, mad rage in her eyes, but Angel caught his wayward daughter by the hair and bashed her head into the stone wall of the torture chamber with all of his might. Pain exploded in his gut, and a massively powerful blow knocked him over the table of torture instruments, a soul-steel dagger stuck in his stomach, and Drusilla rushing at him, blood flowing down her arms and solidifying into rusty chains tipped with viciously hooked blades. One that would have take off his head passed through empty space, and he was suddenly behind Drusilla, dagger torn from his stomach and stabbing down into her back.

The Abyssal howled in pain and spun around, striking his chest with her open palm, and he was sent flying across the torture room, black lightning crackling through his body, lighting up his nervous system with pure agony. He struck the stone wall with a resounding crash, leaving a man-sized dent in the granite. He dropped effortlessly to his feet, and saw Drusilla charge him, only for Buffy to seemingly materialize behind her, catching her by the foot and slamming the Abyssal into one of the tables, smashing the mahogany into splinters. Buffy then grabbed the Day Caste by the hair and dragged her bodily over to the coal-pit. Angel winced as Buffy shoved Drusilla's face into the blazing charcoal, the Solar snarling hatefully as the Abyssal thrashed and howled in agony. His child's spiked heel lashed out at Buffy, tearing a hole in her shirt and snapping off on her stomach.

With a curse, Buffy stamped her foot on Drusilla's ankle in response, and a loud snap echoed through the room as Buffy shattered the bone, and proceeded to grind the Abyssal's foot into the floor. Angel grabbed a fallen butcher's knife and ran his hand over it. The blade extended and shifted into a double-edged broadsword, and Angel strode towards his Solar Mate. He didn't want to risk Drusilla managing to get a lucky shot while Buffy was burning her face off, and lined up the angle he'd need to strike the former vampiress' head from her shoulders. Then, a terrible presence appeared just outside the room, and the hairs on Angel's neck stood up. This wasn't the Voice, this was something else.

"Well, isn't this rude! I do believe y'all started the party without me!" came an indignant voice from the door, and Angel caught his first glimpse of the newcomer.

He was an adult male, perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties, dressed in a black preacher's frock. His voice had a very Southern accent, and despite the amiable tone in his voice, Angel could see the fires of true madness burning in the eyes of this newcomer. Short, brown hair, was smoothly combed and, like the preacher's face, was covered in blood. Black unlight shone from the Caste Mark of Dusk that was pronounced on the man's forehead.

Buffy looked up from Drusilla with an annoyed expression. She picked up the Abyssal, and Angel turned away from the burning, grinning skull that was once a beautiful face, and a loud crack echoed through the room as Buffy snapped Drusilla's neck. The Day Caste fell to the ground, and Buffy stamped hard onto the woman's back, shattering her spine for good measure. Angel caught a glimpse of Xander hiding beneath one of the tables, and mentally wondered where the hell the Voice was.

"So, I'm guessing you're an Abyssal-whatsit as well, right?" Buffy asked with feigned nonchalance, but Angel could hear the tremble of rage in her voice, and readied himself to leap to her aid as soon as possible. He had no idea how powerful this Dusk Caste was, and didn't want to start the fight until he did. He _did_ know that at least one of the Abyssals had Exalted during the American Civil War, and he prayed that it wasn't this one. If it was, he honestly didn't know if they could prevail.

"Right in one, little lady," the Dusk Caste confirmed cheerfully, grinning madly, "I'm The Forgotten Disciple of Endless Depths, and normally that's what people call me, if they know what's good for 'em," the grin grew wider, and Angel realized that they were dealing, not just with a madman, but with a zealot, and his weariness grew, "But, heck, I like you, little lady, so y'all can call me Caleb."

"Well, _Caleb,_" Buffy smiled faux-sweetly, "I like you too, so I'm gonna let you decide how you're gonna die. I've got a few options running through my head, see, and I'm open to suggestions if you've got any preferences. See, I'm _thinking_ of just tearing you limb from fucking limb, but I'm also open to crushing your balls into spermy white paste with my bare hands and then ripping your dick off and making you eat it while you bleed to death. Or," Buffy reached out and called Drusilla's still-glowing brand to her outstretched right hand, "I could jam this little beauty up your ass and fuck you to death with it. Really, I'm very flexible with this."

Angel's apprehension grew as Caleb started laughing.

"Oh, you _are_ a little spitfire, ain't 'cha!" he exclaimed, "I'm gonna enjoy my time with you, little lady-"

A figure suddenly appeared behind Caleb and punched the Abyssal right in the kidneys. Angel caught a glimpse of a dark blue suit, stained with blood before the figure blurred and kicked Caleb's right knee out from under him, in a very literal sense. Caleb's knee went flying into the stone slab at the back of the room in a spurt of blood, and Caleb's lower leg dropped away from his body. A backhand sent Caleb's lower jaw bursting out of his mouth and flying into the granite wall with a sickening squelching noise. A punch to the gut and a hideous squishing noise told Angel that Caleb's intestines had just been pulped.

The injured preacher hopped back with impossible and vaguely humorous speed and grabbed the fallen Drusilla's body, and, in a flash of unlight, both Abyssal Exalted vanished. Angel watched in stunned silence as the man who'd just defeated a powerful Celestial Exalted calmly walked over to where Xander had been laying in agony, and kicked the boy with all of his might. Buffy began to shout in anger, but stopped as the intent behind the action became clear.

In a blur of healing power, Xander's injuries healed themselves, burns fading to pale red skin, cuts sowing themselves shut and bruises vanishing before their eyes. In moments, Xander was fully healed, and a gesture from his healer sent the teen into blessed unconsciousness. The man turned to face Buffy and Angel, and for the first time, Angel looked upon the face of the Voice.

He _looked_ young, but for Exalts appearances were almost always deceiving. A dark, torn and bloody blue suit that wouldn't be out of place on a senior accountant adorned a slim, fit form. Dark eyes look out from a pale, clean-shaven face. Perfectly-brushed black hair was ready for a day at the office, and by no means did this man look like someone who had just crippled the Dusk Caste Abyssal.

"My apologies for my tardiness," a cultured British accent spoke, completely at odds with the middle-American accent Angel had been imagining for the Voice, "but the Dusk Caste severely injured me earlier and I was forced to take some time to heal myself before I could come to your aid."

"Not to be ungrateful, but who _are_ you, and how the _hell_ did you do that?!" Buffy asked/demanded in confusion.

The man didn't appear upset by Buffy's bluntness, and smiled as he answered.

"Ah, yes, forgive me," the man apologized, "I am Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, Rogue Sidereal Exalted and Chosen of the Maiden of Endings. It is truly a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Summers."

"Wait, you're one of Giles' friends?" she asked, surprised, and Angel saw how Wesley's smile suddenly became forced.

"You'll notice that I said _rogue_ Sidereal Exalted," he corrected firmly, "And, no, Rip-I mean, _Giles_ is no friend of mine, I'm afraid."

Buffy nodded, and suddenly swayed and staggered forward. Wesley's eyes widened in alarm as Angel caught his Solar Mate and steadied her. He could feel the exhaustion radiating off of her, and he realized that she had finally burnt through her last reserves of power.

"Wesley, I know we need to talk," Angel began quietly, "but this probably isn't the best time or place. I need to get her home, and the kid to a hospital-"

"Allow me to take care of him," Wesley interjected suddenly, "I have...friends who specialize in treating injuries such as his." Angel nodded at that. Whatever else they might be, Sidereals were _very_ adept at weeding out trauma and twisting it into whatever they needed it to be. And if Angel was correct about the group that this Sidereal likely served, what they needed from Xander's trauma was a happy, grateful Dawn Caste Solar.

"Alright, take care of him," Angel said, with an undercurrent of warning. His message didn't need to be heard by Buffy right now, and he knew that the Chosen of Endings would understand.

"We will," Wesley promised seriously, and walked over to the fallen teen, picked him up with casual ease, and then vanished.

Angel lifted Buffy up in his arms as though she was a child, smiling slightly as she wrapped her arms around his shoulder.

"Your place," the teen muttered tiredly, "Don't wanna sleep alone."

Angel could empathize with _that._ With a murmured confirmation, he summoned what little remained of his Essence reserves and blurred with speed as he raced back towards the exit to the cavern.

**–?–**

** A shadowy figure wandered the halls where the Abyssal Exalts had been living, looking over the ruined walls, the murals defaced by bloody images carved in the Deathlords' glory, the beautiful silence forever disrupted by the vicious battle that had taken place here.**

** "They trashed my house." a shadowy echo stated flatly.**

** "They trashed my fucking house."**

_**"I am going to kill them!"**_

** –End Chapter–**

** Questions? Comments? Concerns?**

** Also: I know tons of important questions abound, but this is where the plot really starts to take off.**


	8. Aftermath

**A/N: ****Sorry for the shortness, but this is what I refer to as an Aftermath: Chapter. It's something I started with Sunnydale Chronicles, and it's a half-length chapter dealing with the aftermath of a major battle. For Sunnydale, I used them to mark the end of a Story Arc. Here, I'm using them to deal with the end of any major battle/arc/turning point.**

** –Willow–**

Noise. That was the first thing she became aware of. She tried to open her eyes, but something dripping into them, and she began blinking furiously to clear her vision. She tried to speak, but pain bloomed in her chest and jaw, and she gasped in agony, and the pain flared again. Her every breath brought pain. Words behind the noise sounded, vague and meaningless, and a warmth began to flow through her, and the pain in her chest died down to a tolerable dull ache. She tried to speak again, but her mouth wasn't moving right. More noise, and this time she heard some words.

"-terrible accident-called parents-gonna be fine"

"Don't try to speak-"

"-lucky she's alive-"

"Oh, God, _Willow!"_

"Ma'am, please, don't grab her-"

"-how severe-"

"-massive organ damage-pierced lung-"

"Will she-"

"-recover, but it'll be a long, arduous process-"

_**"Leave."**_

__Silence.

_ **"Oh, little one. I regret that this was necessary. But you would never have aided us of your ****own accord. And, alas, we need your aid most desperately. I'm afraid this is going to hurt quite a ****bit, even moreso than if you sought the power yourself. But the power will, I think, be worth it in the end. You don't even need to seek your Essence. Just...try to stay sane, won't you?"**_

__A pause in the warmth flowing into her veins, and then-

_**Fire.**_ Pain, burning agony blazing through her. She tried to scream, but her mouth felt like it was wired shut. She tried to thrash in agony, and suddenly realized she was immobilized. She tried to cry, but the tears were imprisoned. She was locked inside this blazing torment, and absently she wondered if she'd died and gone to hell.

**–Buffy–**

It had been two days since the fight with Drusilla. She hadn't seen Xander yet, but Angel assured her that he was fine, and she trusted Angel. Even after hearing the truth about Darla, she trusted him. Any vampire who could earn an Exaltation deserved as much. No, what was worrying her was the girl lying immobile on the white hospital bed before her. She hadn't heard about the accident until over fourteen hours after the fact, when Angel's contact called him and asked him if Willow had given him the message.

A blur of panic later and they'd arrived at the hospital, where Willow was lying unconscious in intensive care, fighting for her life. Buffy was somewhat glad she'd arrived late, she didn't know if she could take seeing Willow before she'd been bandaged up. As it was bandages and casts covered her entire body, and she'd heard a doctor saying that it was nothing short if a miracle that she'd survived at all. She'd heard words like concussions and contusions and compound fractures and punctured lungs, and the last one had sounded especially bad. Ruptured stomach sounded almost as bad, and these were all injuries Willow had suffered trying to help her and Angel, and despair welled up inside Buffy. Four weeks. That was how long she'd been going to Sunnydale High. That was how long it'd taken her to draw immense evil down on the unsuspecting heads of the people of the town. That was how long it had taken her to horrifically, perhaps permanently, injure her two new friends who'd only wanted to help her.

"Buffy," came Joyce's soft voice behind her, her mother placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, "It's time to go home. You can see Willow tomorrow."

Buffy reached out and squeezed Willow's hand, but didn't answer. Her mother gently tried to pull her away, but Buffy didn't so much as budge.

"Buffy, honey, visiting hours are over," Joyce tried again, as gently as possible. She could only imagine what Buffy was going through-

"She can't hear you."

Joyce started and turned to see Angel standing in the doorway of the room.

"What do you mean? Of course she can-" Joyce frowned, but Angel was shaking his head.

"It's an Exalt thing," he explained quietly, "She's having trouble coping with Willow's injury. For Solar Exalted, failing to save a friend is tantamount to hurting them yourself. With Xander's injury, followed by Willow's, she's suffering a Breakdown."

"Then I need to-" Joyce began, eyes widening at the implications, but Angel was talking over he again.

"There is _nothing_ you can do," Angel stated flatly, "She'll be like this for the next day or so. She won't eat, drink, sleep or move until she snaps out of it."

"Do you seriously expect me to just _leave_ my daughter here like this-"

"You don't have a choice," Angel said calmly, "She doesn't want to move, and there is simply no way you can move her. Besides, these episodes are important for Celestial Exalted. It's a form of catharsis. You really need to stop thinking about your daughter's well-being in human terms-"

"What other 'terms' should I use, then?!" Joyce demanded angrily, the nerve of this man, "My daughter is _human_, in case you hadn't-" but a brilliant silver light flashed in the room, making her shield her eyes, and when she opened them, a bright silver disc was shining on Angel's head as a soft silver glow filled the room.

"No," Angel said coldly, and Joyce was suddenly nervous, faced with this mighty being, "She isn't, not anymore. Nor am I, for that matter. Buffy and I are Celestial Exalted. We are more than mortal, more than human. We are the Chosen of the Gods. She is a Lawgiver, Chosen by The Unconquered Sun himself to set the laws of right and wrong that mortals are bound by. I am her Steward. In her absence, _I_ determine right or wrong, good or evil. We are Exalted. Your standards, your laws, your right, your wrong, your good and evil, they simply don't apply. Your daughter does not yet understand this fact, but _I_ do. Your status as her mother, much as it pains me to say this, is detrimental to her well-being. She still sees you as an authority figure, and, for a Solar Exalted, _that_ is deeply unhealthy. Your daughter needs your support, your love, you acceptance, but not your dicipline, or authority, or even your wisdom."

Pitiless golden eyes met her gaze head on.

"Joyce, please, for your daughters sake, _step down._ Let me guard her. Go home, and care for the daughter who needs your guidance."

"Who do you think you are-" Joyce tried one last time, but suddenly the Exalt was in front of her, towering over her.

"I am the last remaining Steward of Creation," came the cold response, "And it is my divine duty to guard Buffy from all sources of harm. Even ones that mean well. Go _home,_ Joyce. Dawn needs you. Buffy doesn't."

Something seemed to switch off inside Joyce, and her anger died down. The strength she'd been using to defy the Lunar before her was gone, and finally she saw the truth in his words. She didn't understand it, no mortal truly could, but she _accepted_ it, which was just as good. She nodded quietly, kissed Buffy on the cheek, and left. Angel pulled up a chair and sat down next to Buffy, his warm silver glow enveloping her.

"Thank you, Angel," she whispered softly. Angel smiled and squeezed her hand.

"Don't mention it."

**–Hall of the Dead–**

** "Do you feel better, little one?"** a powerful, sensuous voice asked, and Drusilla opened her eyes. A beautiful pale goddess stood over her, smiling down in affection. Drusilla smiled.

"Yes, Mummy," she answered obediently. The Lover Clad in Raiment of Tears stroked the Abyssal's face.

**"I'm glad to hear it," **she said lovingly, **"I almost lost you. If Caleb hadn't brought you to me when he did..."**

"Caleb lost his leg," Drusilla grinned mischievously, and the Deathlord nodded tolerantly.

**"He lost more than that,"** she grinned, **"Especially once we lost the Cathedral."**

"The nasty shadow took it back," Drusilla pouted, and the Deathlord raised an eyebrow.

**"You saw that, did you?"** she asked, interested.

"Oh yes," Drusilla nodded seriously, "Granddaddy shows me _everything_ when I'm sleeping."

**"Did Granddaddy tell you anything about the Jade Prison?"** the Lover queried eagrely. Drusilla nodded.

"It's in the dragon's tummy," Drusilla informed her, and the Deathlord frowned.

**"What dragon?"** she asked. Drusilla thought about that.

"Where's Miss Edith?" she responded, "She's the one who talks to Granddaddy, she'll know about the dragon."

The Lover sighed and produced the doll. Drusilla looked at it for a moment, apparently listening intently. After a moment, she spoke.

"Miss Edith says a big dragon, who serves a bigger one. It has tentacles, and it ate the Jade Prison up, yumyumyum!"

**"Thank you dear,"** the Lover sighed irritably, speaking with the Neverborn was confusing at the best of times, having their messages relayed through Drusilla was truly a nightmare, **"You've been very helpful."**

"Granddaddy also says if you lose him the prison, he'll take your skin," Drusilla added with a smile. The Lover grimaced. That one, at least, was clear.

**–Caleb–**

"I've got to say, Mr. Caleb," the ghost grinned as it dragged the blazing hot knife down Caleb's torso, the Abyssal gritting his teeth as he tried not to scream, deliberately ignoring the use of his former name, "I'm a big fan of your work. I was following your career prior to your Exaltation, and I haven't seen such _exquisite_ attention to detail since, well, me."

Caleb grimaced as he tried to smile, wishing he wasn't hanging by his arms from the ceiling; the rat bastard was twisting the knife into his gut now.

"Well," he managed to say, groaning in agony, "That's a heck of a compliment."

"It's the honest truth!" the ghost assured him, "I mean, masquerading as a priest for _that long,_ you were killed after, what, a decade? Pretty impressive. And you were killing little girls, too! Nothing attracts attention like the raped corpse of a twelve-year old, but you evaded suspicion all the way to the end!"

"Until the parents found me out, beat me within an inch of my life and tossed me into a furnace, you mean," Caleb pointed out cheerfully, eyes bulging in pain as the Ghost began dripping hydrochloric acid into his wounds.

"Too much horror movies, that's their problem," his torturer said, shaking his head, "No creativity of their own."

Caleb nodded as his eyes rolled back into his head, desperately trying not to scream.

"Listen, Caleb," his tormentor went on conversationally, "I admire your self-control, but I'd really appreciate it if you'd start screaming soon. If the Lion thought I was going easy on you, well, he'd be pretty angry."

"That's-" a hiss of pain, "-exactly why-" gasp, "-I'm not-" moan of agony, "-doin' it."

"Too bad," the Ghost said insincerely, "Because he said if you didn't react, I could start taking stuff."

"Wait, what-" Caleb began, alarm bells going off in his head, and the Ghost grinned evilly as he jammed his acid-covered thumb directly into Caleb's right eye.

**–Giles–**

In the dark hallways of Sunnydale High, late in the night, none walk the floors. However, a palpable sense of power and destiny is in the air, flowing from the library, where a certain Chosen of Secrets sits and meditates on The Shape of the World. Clouded eyes examine the patterns of Fate running through the Sunnydale Hellmouth, seeking answers about the war yet to come. The Vizier's potent mind and vast knowledge of scrying Charms gave him the ability to See much further than most, if not all, of his brethren. Giles knew he was lacking in the ways of war by the standards of even Terrestrial soldiers, but he made up for this weakness with a vast and dangerous knowledge of the Occult, as well as an immense array of potent Secrets about the Exalted, all of which gave him his unique brand of power.

It was _this_ power he used to See far more than he should have been able to. Facts and images ran through his mind as the Charm came to its end, and he Saw what was to come.

_A Shadowland will be made of the Hellmouth. Three Deathlords will fight on these grounds. A Celestial Exalt, shredded by the power of the Jade Prison shattering. The Celestial Exalted will wage war. A terrible secret will be revealed._

The terrible light faded from Giles' eyes, and he blinked several times, and looked down upon te paper he had been writing his visions on.

Then he swore violently.

"All out of tea, Ripper?" came a voice from the shadows behind him. He gritted his teeth in annoyance.

"Leave," he ordered shortly.

"No, not until you tell me what you saw."

"Look for yourself, I'm not telling you a damn thing, traitor!" Giles snarled.

"We all have our strengths and weaknesses, Ripper. Mine are in the martial arts, yours are in Seeing what is to come."

"You betrayed us, Wesley" Giles hissed sharply, "You and your entire damn faction!"

"You betrayed your Lords," Wesley retorted angrily, this time in his true voice.

"They were _mad!" _Giles shouted, sick to _death_ of this millenia-old argument.

"They could have been reasoned with!" the Wesley yelled back.

"Once they'd killed _all_ of the Dragon-Blooded, maybe!"

"Just tell me what you saw!"  
"Go to Hell!"

The two men were now face to face, the shadows which had concealed Wesley were gone, leaving Chosen of Endings visible to all, seething with righteous anger. Giles wanted nothing more than to show the arrogant berk just where he'd gotten the name 'Ripper,' and unmake him from within.

_"Fine!"_ Wesley spat, "We'll go on without you. But all _we_ want to do is help her! What _you_ were _supposed_ to be doing."

"I've been helping her just fine-" Giles began coldly, but Wesley's derisive snort cut him off.

"No, you've been manipulating her, lying to her and undermining the people who actually _give a damn!"_ Wesley said bitterly, "_I've_ been giving her the information she needs, free of cost and strings, and going into battle _by her side._ I saved her friend, Xander, _even after _an Abyssal broke _every bone in my body, _and then I took him to a place which could heal his extensive injuries. _You_ provoked her Lunar Mate into _attacking you._ Who do _you_ think helped her more? Hmm? Think about it, _Ripper."_

The shadows once more swallowed the Chosen of Endings, and Giles was left alone with just his thoughts and the harsh words of the rogue Sidereal for company.

** –The Hellmouth–**

Far below Sunnydale High, far beneath its winding basement, deeper down then even the Master's lair, there is a place where no light has ever touched. Within the sealed cavern that the Master calls his home, there is a tunnel that extends into this darkness, a darkness so pure and ancient that even the vampires fear it. To tread this tunnel is to invite death and madness, for the path is, by its very nature, treacherous. Whispers seek to draw the traveler to his doom at the bottom of any number of hidden pits. Rocks hide in the blackness, seeking to trip the unwary into falling down the winding, descending path.

Should one successfully navigate this tunnel, one exits into a place once known as μαύρη Εκκλησία: The Black Cathedral. It is a dark, foreboding structure, forged of purest shadow, its spires stretching into the dark heights of the seemingly infinite cavern it inhabits. This ancient Manse was, in the days of the Primordial War, a great stronghold of the Ebon Dragon. After the victory of the Solar Exalted, the great manse lay dormant for an Age, patiently awaiting the return of its one true master.

Then, the unthinkable happened: The Solar Exalted fell, slain and imprisoned by the Sidereals and the Dragon-Blooded, each Circle imprisoned in a small prison of purest jade, and each Jade Prison locked away in a place where none would dare to tread. When the Sidereals were seeking their hiding places, they found the Sunnydale Hellmouth, and the dark Manse hidden within, and they believed that they had found the perfect hiding place. Bound once by the remoteness of the Cathedral, Bound twice by the Hellmouth's Guardian, and Bound Thrice by the Sorcery of the Sidereal Elders, they believed that the Jade Prison was secure, and they left it there, cast away into the darkness for all eternity.

Only now, there was Light in the Darkness. A sickly green glow illuminated the most ancient temple of The Shadow of All Things as a single figure strode into the Black Cathedral's main hall, walking up to where it's shadowy Heartstone held the structure together.

"So easy a thing, to simply take this Stone and flee..." it murmured, and behind it, the Shadows coalesced into a black mirror of the youngest Solar Exalted

"**If you don't mind drawing my ire, that is," the cold voice spoke, a chilling parody of ****Buffy's normally bright and cheerful tone. **The figure smiled in the shadows.

"Welcome home, Master," it greeted, "Your defenses are, indeed, as woefully decayed as you feared."

** "Can they be fixed?" the Shadows asked, their voice now the soft, Russian timbre of the figure illuminated by the deathly green light.**

"Certainly, certainly," the figure nodded, "But it shall take time. The Guardian has slumbered far too long, influenced, I think, by the Solars within its gut. It will take time to wake it, and the natural defenses are in even worse shape. Can the Defiler-"

_**"No."**_

The figure nodded, the terrifying, eldritch nature of the command seemingly of no consequence to the being.

**"I will not be indebted to that Obsessive-Compulsive **_**whore,"**_** the Shadows spat in a quieter, more mundanely hateful tone, "Do it yourself, or not at all. The loss of the Jade Prison, while irritating, is largely inconsequential to the greater Plan. The Reclamation **_**will**_** come to pass, despite the meddling of my wayward child, and it will be, for the most part, by **_**my**_** hands, **_**without**_** the aid of my accursed siblings."**

"And the Slayer?" the figure questioned, and the Shadow paused at that.

**"It is a...complication," they admitted, now speaking with the voices of a thousand screaming children, a truly unnerving sounds, "But ultimately, I think, a beneficial one. The Dawn will steal it from the clutches of my foes, and it will be ours, as will all things, in the end."**

"And the Deathlords?"

A chilling laugh echoed throughout the chamber.

**"Be sure to pay attention to them," the Shadows chuckled, "I've seen what they're planning, along with the corpses of my old siblings, and it is going to be **_**highly**_** amusing."**

"As you command, Master."

**"Oh, **_**do **_**lighten up, Victor,"** **the Shadows admonished, now speaking with a cultured British accent, "Always so **_**dour.**_** So **_**business-like.**_** You need to learn to **_**love**_** your work, otherwise, **_**what is the point, hmm?"**_

__"I will endeavor to be more upbeat in the future, my lord."

**"You are hopeless, Victor."**

"As you say, my lord."

**–?–**

_**"Now I see it."**_

__**"See what, my lord?"**

_**"Very clever, my dear, very clever indeed. Such power, in that little concoction of yours. She is the Catalyst, then?"**_

__**"You've found me out, then."**

_**"My dear, clever as you are, you are but a talented amateur before me. But I have to admire your work. You kept all attention from me, maintaining my neutrality, while at the same time implicating Walker for the attack on the girl. Very impressive, indeed."**_

__**"I live to serve, my lord."**

_**"Do not patronize me, child. Do not assume I know nothing of your...other activities. I know who awakened the Solar, and I know where your loyalties lie. But you are yet useful to me, and so I tolerate your infidelity. But I will not tolerate condescension."**_

__**"My apologies."**

_**"Accepted. Now, what have you learned?"**_

__**"The Lion believes that the Jade Prison is the Heartstone of the Manse. The Lover is adrift in a sea of riddles; the Abhorrence of Life and her Deathknight have confused her terribly. Eye and Seven Despairs believes whatever the Lion does, and the Dowager is preoccupied with the Well. The Bishop is still dead, and the Bodhisattva is readying his forces. I believe he plans ****to take the Jade Prison while the others fight over it."**

_**"I see. And where does the Jade Prison **__**actually**__** lie?"**_

__**"Within the stomach of the Behemoth beneath the Black Cathedral."**

_**"How do we seize it?"**_

** "I don't recommend we try."**

_**"You have ten seconds to explain the rationale behind that position, starting now."**_

__**"We would lose the war with the others, fighting the Bodhisattva would alert the warring factions, and I believe that the Dawn will take the Jade Prison, no matter what we do."**

_**"Where does this information come from?"**_

__**"The Loom of Fate."**

_**"...Very well. We are neutral, for the time being. It will unnerve the others, at least. Allow them to waste their time, planning for my eventual action, and costing them precious resources. In the meantime, continue searching for the other prisons. I want more than this single Shard for my armies."**_

__**"As you will, my lord."**

**–Somewhere in South America–**

Warmth. That was what he felt. Warmth, and happiness, and contentment. And comfort. Everything was very comfortable. His face twitched a dark memories flickered through his mind, but the warmth drove them back, far back into his brain. Words were being said, people talking, but he couldn't make anything out. He wanted them to be quiet, so he could rest.

"-a _child-_"

"-was Wesley _thinking-_"

"-past work speaks for itself-"

"-teenage boy-"

"-Dawn considers him a friend-"

"-_that's_ his plan?!"

The last sentence was shouted, and Xander groaned, turning over, muttering nonsense to himself The voices were quiet a moment, before resuming the conversation, in hushed tones.

"-a _good_ plan-"

"-a _stupid_ one-"

"-be in our debt-"

"-her powers are _based_ in the manipulation of others, do you _really-_"

"-based on convincing with _honesty,_ a whole different-"

"-can't _lie_ to a Solar-"

"-myth, and anyways, we aren't-"

"-lie, and you _know_ it!"

"-twisting the truth, it isn't the same-"

"-to a Solar, yes it is-"

"-_once_, can you just-"

"-on, I've got to replace the drip-"

A few moments later, a burst of warmth rushed through his veins, and Xander Harris was asleep once more.

**–End Chapter–**

** When you guys review, telling me the good and bad about the story, that gets me thinking more about the next chapter, and then I want to write it.**

** Also: Victor sounds like Bane from the new Batman movie, but more Russian.**


	9. Solar Hero Style

**A/N: Here we are. The final stretch of the First Season. The beginning of the end, the end of the beginning.**

** A/N2: Everything that is incorrect about the Canon Exalted metaphysics is entirely intentional. All errors with metaphysics are a result of the fusion with the Buffyverse. All errors with the Buffy metaphysics/magic system is a result of the fusion with Exalted. I am aware that not everything in this story is factual according to canon. I don't need to be told about it. Also, this isn't in response to anyone(s) in particular. My ideas-taster just advised me to start putting up warnings whenever I change something huge.**

** –Willow–**

The colors, she realized, were ganging up on her. They had to be. The voices wouldn't lie, would they? And, besides, look at all the glowy green and pink and purple and gold and silver and weirdness-she-couldn't-describe. The fire still burned, really, really painfully, but she was getting used to that. Things were a lot simpler, here in Hell. There wasn't anything to do, aside from burning and watching the colors. The voices were very helpful with that, especially Alice. The Red Queen wasn't _nearly_ as nice. She kept poking Willow. Alice, though, mediated disputes with the colors. She was pretty sure Purple had stolen her credit card, and Gold wanted to ask her out. Green was in love with Pink, and Pink liked Gold, so it was pretty awkward there, but Alice was good about keeping them in line. Still, she was pretty sure that Pink and Purple were in on stealing her Eggos.

Did she have Eggos? Were Eggos real, or was that something she'd dreamed? Was anything real? Was she real? Or was she still in the car, and this was some elaborate, drawn out death, eternally dead and dying, but aware and in pain, a twitching, rotting corpse, being eaten alive by maggots-

Where had _that_ come from? Green was back. She hated Green. She was pretty sure Green was why she was here, feeding her the fire and colors, and she wanted to be free, _free __**FREE-**_

__The colors were watching her. She wanted some privacy, her burning skin was very sore, and she wanted a shower, but there wasn't any water in Hell. She wondered why she was sent here. She couldn't remember doing anything _that_ bad...

Buffy was talking again, even though Willow couldn't understand her words. Willow wasn't sure why she could hear Buffy. Gold said she was a hallucination, but Gold liked her, so maybe he just wanted her attention. She hoped she couldn't hear Buffy because Buffy was dead, too. That would be awful. She liked to think that she could hear Buffy because Buffy was talking to her grave.

Sometimes, though, she felt like Buffy was holding her hand, and her strength and warmth overwhelmed the fire, but not for long, and not often. She was probably imagining it.

_Power, surging, potent power, tied to her soul, the pain vanishing in this rush of pure __**magic-**_

The pain abated as she watched the world with newly awakened perception. She _saw_ the power flowing through the world, through her, she _understood_ what was happening, she _knew_ that she was now-

**Enlightened.**

Then, the fire returned, full force. Her eyes snapped open, and through her wired jaw, she _screamed._

** –Buffy–**

Buffy sat beside Willow's bed, holding her friend's hand, chatting randomly about her day, about the new Charms Giles was teaching her, about Xander being safe, if hidden, about school, about every little thing she could think of. Honestly, she _really_ hoped that Willow wasn't conscious, but if she was, Buffy was determined to give her _something_ to listen to, something to hold on to from within her coma. She wouldn't allow her friend to suffer anymore than she already had, not if she could help it.

Suddenly, the grip on her hand tightened and Willow's body convulsed, jerking and twitching like the comatose girl was having a seizure. Her eyes shot open, meeting Buffy's shocked gaze, and she heard Angel calling for the doctor in the background, as Willow _screamed._ She could see blood staining the bandages around Willow's mouth as the girl tried to force her shattered jaw open, her thrashing shaking the support keeping her legs suspended in the air, her one good hand clutching Buffy's with all her might, and had Buffy not been an Exalt, she might have suffered some damage. As it was, she watched in paralyzed panic as Willow muffled howls tore her healing jaw apart, causing more pain, and more screaming. Willow's doctor rushed through the door and Angel grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her free of Willow's death grip.

"Buffy, let them do their job," he muttered, hauling her out. Buffy suddenly snapped back into awareness, and only Angel's vastly superior strength prevented her escape.

_"NO!"_ she screamed, blind panic at the thought of her friend in pain clouding her judgment, "She's in pain, she's _hurting,_ she needs me!"

"Buffy, _listen,"_ Angel pulled her into a bear hug, pinning the struggling Solar to his chest, "She needs her doctors right now, not her friends! You've done everything you could. Let the professionals take over now."

Slowly, reluctantly, Buffy calmed down, her Lunar Mate's soothing tone piercing her frenzy, and she clamped down on the screaming desire to go help her friend, and allowed herself to realize that she couldn't do anything productive right now. The stress tore at her insides, stretching her self-control, but finally, she closed her eyes to the sight of Willow's pain, and allowed Angel to pull her away.

"Come on," he said softly, "Let's go do something relaxing. See a movie, or something."

"I actually have an essay do tomorrow," Buffy said after a moment, not noticing the adoringly exasperated look Angel gave her.

"I still don't understand why you go to school, let alone bother to do your homework," He shook his head, smiling.

"Because I don't have to," came Buffy's quiet response, and Angel didn't have any comeback to that.

"Well, do you need any help?" he asked instead.

"That depends," she said, finally smiling, admittedly a bit forced, but Angel would take what he could get, "What do you know about the Great Depression?"

"Well, I was living in New York for the first half of that decade, and in Florida for the second, so quite a bit, actually," he grinned, and Buffy's smile widened.

"Good, you can do it, while I watch T.V."

"That kind of defeats the point, don't you think?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. Buffy gave him a full-blown grin now.

"I go to school to feel normal," she explained seriously, "and having your genius cradle-robbing boyfriend do your homework is a very normal thing for a teenager to do."

"I'll take your work for it," he responded dryly.

"Good, but you need to start soon, because it's due tomorrow."

"Okay, now you're just_ trying_ to mess with me."

**–?, Hospital–**

** "I am not here," she said, and instantly the various doctors crowding the girl's bed wrote her out of their sights and memories. She walked through them as though they were but shadows, and took her concoction out from the girl's I.V. and replaced it with the proper bag. She flicked her bag into the nothingness of Elsewhere, and paused for a moment to stroke the girl's sweat-soaked red hair.**

** "You are destined for great things, child. Someday, you might even thank me. Of course, it's vastly more likely that your Solar friend will kill me, but a woman can hope, can't she?"**

** The screaming and thrashing died down as the sedative from the drip finally found it's way into her veins, and within moments the girl was unconscious, and the doctors began their work to repair the damage. A thought and a brief flare of Essence from her robbed them of their thoughts and purpose, and she drove her hand down into the child's chest with all of her considerable might. Glowing grass-green light flared, and the child's bones began to knit, her internal injuries healed and her bruises faded. The wires in her jaw unwove themselves and wriggled out of her cheek and down to the floor, and the bloody exit-wound shone as the healing Essence ran through it, regrowing skin and flesh and summoning shards of bone together and reweaving them into a whole. The casts fell off of the girl's form, even as she summoned a robe to cover the girl's modesty, and the horrendous bruising on the girl's arms and legs and torso faded and became pale skin once more. Splints fell to the floor, and bones righted themselves as she made her will known to the world.**

** This girl's Fate was not that of a crippled mortal. The Green Lady required her whole and untarnished by scars and imperfectly healed bones. And it took more than mere physical limitations to defy her will. When at last the girl was whole again, the Green Lady removed her fist and light tapped the girl one on her forehead, once on each eyelid, once each over her mouth and throat, and twice over her heart. Essence flared, and the painful memories of the child's coma were banished from her thoughts, purged by the Green Lady's power. Only the barest memory of the torment of the Celestial Cocaine would remain, the foggiest memories of pain and colors, only recalled when she desired it.**

** Let it never be said that The Green Lady harmed needlessly. She did what she had to do, no more, no less. A massive presence appeared in the room, a dark weight settling on her shoulders, pushing her down with its mere presence.**

** _"My dear, I do think you are going soft."_**

** "By whose standards, though?**

** _"Since when do you heal the mental scars of children?"_**

** "Since I require her sane for our goals."**

** _"Methinks the Lady doth protest to much."_**

**"Don't you have an island populace to terrorize?"**

** _"I'm not actually here."_**

**"Fine. I was done here anyways."**

** _"You are far to sensitive, my dear. I was only jesting."_**

**"And I am playing along. You do so love besting people in your little games, and I just can't _stand_ to see you get disappointed when I beat you."**

** _"You are lucky you are so amusing, my dear. Had anyone else said that to me, their lives would be short and their deaths slow."_**

**"Had anyone else said it to you, I would not be here right now."**

** _"That...how is that pertinent?"_**

**"How is it not?"**

** There was a heavy pause, and a massive presence vanished from the room. The Green Lady smiled.**

** He really _was_ too easy to manipulate.**

** –Giles–**

A tired Giles sat at the great round table in the library, surrounded by stacks and stacks of books. Notes surrounded him; hurried translations, possible interpretations, origin sources, possible prior completions. He'd been up for nearly thirty-two straight hours, working through the weekend, desperately seeking to somehow avert the catastrophe that he knew was coming. But he could not. The true prophecy was before him, alongside the false one, the one that had forced the Bronze Faction's hand into training Buffy, rather than killing her outright, lay before him, an ancient prediction, passed unto one of the few remaining Gods that would deal with the Sidereals in return for its aid on some unknown mission, forcibly ripped from its mind as it died not a century prior. There was no doubt. In its dying moment, the god had taken its revenge, and, Giles _knew,_ this was the price they were paying for their prior knowledge of Buffy's Exaltation. He looked at the incomplete version once more, cursing their error.

**Summer's light shines bright**

** As the shadows swallow her**

** Damned souls rise again**

Giles cursed that ancient, unknown god for its treachery. Deciphering instructions given in riddles was something the Sidereals were long trained to excel in, due to their dealings with the denizens of Malfeas. However, the same practice was not true of the long-gone gods. They could speak the truth, indeed, the Sidereals had compelled it to. So, it obfuscated the truth in a way that could only harm them. Recently recovered from the ancient records, dating back to the Great Contagion, was the _true_ prophecy, hidden amongst so much useless knowledge, forgotten until now.

**Buffy Summers will fight the Deathlords in the Sunnydale Shadowland while their forces ravage the town.**

It, like all correctly done Sidereal prophecies, was remarkably clear. A clearly stated secret, given unknowingly to a god in return for a favor, secretly recorded and transcribed, as all such transactions were. That form of cheating was, perhaps, why the Sidereals were so despised by all honest spirits. Giles sighed as he discounted the reasoning behind it. The _why_ of it didn't matter so much anymore.

The god was dead, by Sidereal hands, and its trickery could not have come at a worse time. The cause of the whole incident was when one of their younger members had returned from a Potential-seeking mission to Albania with horrific injuries and a shattered mind. The young Chosen of Journeys had been screaming about a Hellmouth and the Slayer, dooming the coming Light to lifetimes in Hell, before dying in front of them as his brain leaked out his ears and nose.

In their horrified panic, upon both the death of one of their own and of the Hellmouth and its relation to a Slayer, they sought out all remaining gods who held their long-lost secrets related to such things, and stole them back. Only, to their great cost, the one that they were searching for had been hidden, not lost.

And then the damned god had given them a haiku, technically truthful, as forced by their Charms, that they believed explained everything. They had used their most powerful charms to find the Potential who was most related to the prophecy, and saw Buffy Summers Exalt. And in their arrogance, they assumed they had 'solved' a riddle that had never been.

Now they were woefully unprepared to face the coming invasion from the Underworld, and Giles had a choice to make. The Dragon-Blooded, the closest thing to an Exalted army left in this modern world, was scattered into groups of five and ten and twenty, securing the various vampire-infested locations and demon hotspots across the globe. The Bronze Faction numbered only fourteen Sidereals, as the Chosen of Journeys had yet to reincarnate, and only five of those were more than a century old, and they, too, were spread far and thin, seeking out Potential Slayers and destroying particularly dangerous demons. The Prophecy was accurate within a month, and Giles knew he would have less than that, now that the price was apparent.

He could try to rally the Bronze Faction to the Hellmouth, and hope that they formed up in time to do more than die in droves at the hands of the Deathlords. Or, he could call Buffy, Angel, and Wesley, and share this new knowledge. They could pool their resources, and attempt to find a solution together, like in the days of old.

Giles sighed. The 'choice' wasn't any such thing. He was a Sidereal, and he would do what was right, no matter the cost. He focused his Essence on finding the quickest possible path to his next appointment.

_In one hour: Tower of London, Quentin Travers, Re: Preventing Apocalypse._

**–Xander–**

"Hey, wake up," Xander turned over, grumbling at the person currently poking him and disturbing his sleep, "Seriously, kid, wake up. You've been out for almost a week now, and we're getting worried you're gonna start to atrophy soon."

"Graham, I've seen his grades. I don't think he knows what that word means."

"Alright. Hey, kid, if you don't sit up and start walking, I'm gonna blast you with ice."

Xander buried his head under his pillow, not fully comprehending the words being said to him.

"Kid's stubborn. Alright, blast him. Careful, though."

A burst of wind tore the sheets off of his warm, comfy bed and chilled him to his bone. He felt like sharp needles were poking him, and he felt ice forming in his hair. He instantly rolled out of bed, onto the hardwood floor and away from the chilly wind. The noise of the flurry died down, and Xander, now hyper alert, stood up, shivering, and met the eyes of his attackers.

Two men in black, almost gem-like armor were grinning at him. One was a tall black man with a shaved head, and the other was a slightly shorter, but still tall, pale-skinned man with fair blond hair in a crew-cut.

"Well, well, well," the blond man grinned, "Looks like sleeping beauty finally woke up."

"Wh-who are y-you?!" Xander demanded through his chattering teeth, "A-and what the h-hell w-was that?!"

"I'm Graham," the blond man introduced, still grinning, "And this is my buddy, Forrest. We're gonna be your minders for the duration of your stay here in Teotihuacan-"

"Tee-o-tih what now?" Xander queried, blinking in confusion, and shivering violently again.

"Dammit, Graham, you froze the kid's brain!" Forrest reprimanded playfully, and raised his hand. There was a brief, almost imperceptible, at least to mortal eyes, flash of orange and red light. For Xander, though, the flare was bright enough that he had to avert his eyes, and suddenly the cold was gone, replaced by gentle warmth flowing through his veins.

"Tee-oh-ti-hwa-can," Graham pronounced slowly, ignoring Xander's questioning look at Forrest, "and it's a hard word, so don't feel too dumb. Forrest just likes being a prick to the new guys."

"Fair cop," Forrest admitted, "But really, kid, don't take me seriously. We all mess with each other here. It's so damn boring, we'd all go crazy otherwise."

Xander nodded, closing his eyes for a moment as he absorbed this new weirdness.

"Okay," he said at last, "Okay. I've got the name. Now, _where am I,_ and _why am I here?"_

Forrest blinked in confusion.

"Oh, yeah," Graham said in sudden realization, "Wes brought him in out cold, remember? Cassidy was supposed to brief him a few days ago, but she didn't want to wake him."

Forrest smacked himself in the head.

"If I didn't have the utmost respect for her," he sighed, "I'd have some pretty insulting things to say about her right now."

"Anyways," Graham said loudly, "We really need to fill you in on some stuff-"

"First off, what do you know about the Exalted?" Forrest cut in, and Graham gave him a dirty look at the interruption.

"Um," Xander blinked as he tried to remember Giles' briefing, "My friend is a Solar? And Giles is a Side-reel?"

"Sid-ear-eel," Graham sighed, clearly irritated, "You have _no idea_ how many people make that error. Anyways, Sidereals are the bosses. You _should_ have been briefed by them. But instead, you've gotta settle for us foot-sloggers."

"I don't-" Xander began, but Forrest cut him off.

"We're Dragon-Blooded, Terrestrial Exalted," he began rapidly, "We're the foot-soldiers of the Celestial Exalted, the Sidereals, and, at least in these parts, the Solars. Judges are out on what we owe the Lunars. There's a lot more of us, and instead of messing with reality like the Siddies, or just being ridiculously awesome in every way like the Solars, we throw fire balls and acid and drown people from the inside out and stuff."

"You're what we call an 'Enlightened Mortal,'" Graham interjected, "You've been given a minor form of the Essence-Channeling powers that we Exalted use to do our jobs, and as the closest Exalts to your level, you'll be under our tutelage, along with the rest of the newbie Terrestrials."

"Okay-" Xander started to say, but Forrest was already talking again.

"However, instead of learning to throw fireballs, we'll be teaching you the only thing you're really capable of learning right now-"

"Terrestrial Martial Arts," Graham finished with a vindictive grin at Forrest, "So, now that you've gotten a woefully lacking introduction from us, we really need to be heading out, right now."

Suddenly, a knock sounded on the door to the fancy room.

"Forrest, Graham, Her Redness says get your rears in gear, she doesn't have all day!" came a voice from outside.

"And there's your reason, now get moving!" Forrest said hurriedly and grabbed Xander by his arm and began hauling the confused teen out the door.

**–Hall of the Dead–**

It was a grand sight, in a certain, horrifying way. The massive armies of three of the greatest Deathlords were arrayed before the grand manor of the First and Forsaken Lion, who stood upon a grand pedestal over looking his forces. The massive, nine-foot tall figure clad in blackest armor stood between his two compatriots. On his right was a terrifyingly beautiful woman, clad in form-fitting soul-steel chains, whose intention seemed to be more provocative than combat-effective, who had a great barbed whip at her side, and a hideous serrated Daiklave across her back. On his left stood a tall, heavily muscled man with pale, deathly blue skin and long, gray-white hair running down his back. Piercing orange eyes glared out from the bloody, seemingly freshly-flayed skull that was his signature battle-mask. His hands were clasped over the hilt of a massive grimcleaver forged of blackest soul-steel, a weapon almost as large as him. Blood-red robes flowed down over his body, while a black breastplate of soul-steel covered his chest.

Just below them, in-front of the podium, stood the two Abyssal Exalted serving these ancient Ghosts. A beautiful woman, clad in an outfit identical to her mistress, stood beneath the Lover, smiling absently and humming the Wedding March to herself. Next to the raven-haired beauty and below the First and Forsaken Lion stood a tall, dangerous looking man dressed in long, dark preacher's robes. One blue eye seemed to burn with religious fervor. The other was an empty socket burning in a very literal sense with black fire that licked at the blackened flesh around the eye. Short, well-combed brown hair, alongside his clean robes, seemed to mock the profession he had one held with its clean contrast to the aura of pain and death he exuded.

Standing just apart from the two Abyssal Exalted was the favored servant of the final Deathlord present, a Sidereal woman, clad in robes of emerald, with a small emerald diadem crowning her flowing white hair, stood beneath her lord, overlooking the thousands of Ghosts, their hushed whispers echoing in the dead air. Then, the First and Forsaken Lion drew his massive blade and stabbed it into the soul-steel podium with a clang, and the crowd fell silent.

_** "Servants of the Underworld," **_ the terrible voice boomed, **_"Today is a glorious day! Today, we strike out against the realm of the living, for the glory of the Neverborn! Today, we shall seize the Jade Prison within the Hellmouth of the town known as Sunnydale, and we shall take the Solar Exaltations within! Our might will be doubled, and the treacherous Yozis, the Yozis who sabotaged out capture of the Third Prison in ages past, the Yozis who, rather than allow us our rightful victory, shattered the Prison and returned that Circle to life, will watch in envy as we gain five new Abyssals for our cause! Five new Abyssals to serve the cause of OBLIVION! Today, we march upon the Black Cathedral of the Shadow Of All Things, and we shall steal its demise out from under it! We will kill all that step in our path, and soon, the world of the living will be OURS!"_**

__A resounding cheer from the mouths of the mixed ghost and vampire armies echoed throughout the valley that the Deathlords had placed their mansions in, and the Lover stepped forward.

_**"My children,"**_ she began lovingly, **_"My brother speaks true! Today, we cast aside the civil war that has plagued our beloved home for so long! No more shall we plague each other with petty treachery and deceit! We stand, UNITED! Our lords have given us their blessings, and we cannot fail! Together, all shall bow before us, and all shall know oblivion!"_**

Another chorus of cheers echoed, and as it died down, the Walker stepped forward.

_**"No rousing speech I give will say anything that my siblings have not,"**_ he said quietly, his voice carrying perfectly through the silence, **_"Know that our victory today shall mean a better tomorrow, for all of us, as the living scream beneath our blades, and beg us for death. Do your duty, and do it well. Lion, would you do the honors?"_**

__The First and Forsaken Lion nodded and stepped forward, thrusting his blade into the air.

_**"ONWARD! To the Hellmouth, and VICTORY!"**_

**–Xander–**

It was really a very pretty location, Xander realized. He was standing in his tee-shirt and jeans, with to a bunch of guys in armor, so that was a little awkward, but otherwise, it was a really nice location. It was a sunny little grove by a running river. Trees and green grass stretched along the winding path back to the massive Aztec pyramid-thingy, and a sweet, flowery smell was blowing in alongside a nice, warm breeze. They were all facing the river, with Graham and Forrest standing a few dozen feet in front of them, conversing with a somewhat-short, scarlet-haired woman in body-armor. She nodded a few times, and then walked over to them.

She was beautiful, Xander supposed, but he was having a hard time thinking of her like that. An aura of palpable sternness radiated off of her, and he found himself automatically standing up straighter as she approached.

"Alright, maggots!" she snapped out, "As I'm sure you can see, we've got some new blood today! You!" she snapped, pointing at him, "Name and purpose for being here, now!"

Xander automatically snapped into a salute, standing perfectly straight.

"Ma'am, Xander Harris, Ma'm! Ma'am, I don't know why I'm here, Ma'am!"

"You don't?!" she yelled, "You've got no _idea_ why you might be here?! Well?! Answer me when I ask you a fucking question!"

"Ma'am, I'm here because that's where I woke up, ma'am!" he responded, his brain panicking as it sought out an answer that seemed to be eluding it, hiding from his mind like a roach from the sunlight.

"Wrong, maggot!" the woman yelled back, "You're here because you're a useless waste of space, and you, like a sinking ship, are dragging down everyone you care about! You wanna change that, don'tcha?!"

"Ma'am, yes ma'am!" Xander shouted immediately, without thought. Any other answer was unthinkable when presented with the woman before him.

"There's your answer, maggot!" she yelled, and then stepped back and addressed the group at large, "You're all here to become useful! You're all here to learn to contribute to the War! 'What War?', you might be wondering? Well, Harris here's got some personal experience with that! Harris! Tell them about how Drusilla Keeble nearly tortured you to death!"

There it was. The thought that he'd been trying to find. Vague pictures of a dark dungeon and burning pain flashed before his mind's eye.

"You can't, can you, Harris?" the woman said, in a much softer tone. Xander shook his head, wondering why he couldn't remember something so important.

"Two weeks ago, Harris was kidnapped by the Abyssal Exalt known as Drusilla Keeble," the red-head explained, an extremely serious expression now set on her face, "Drusilla was one of the most powerful vampires in existence before her Exaltation at the hands of The Lover Clad In Raiment Of Tears, and she is now known for torturing her victims to death over a period of days. Xander here was her prisoner for approximately six hours, and suffered her _personal_ attention for almost a full hour before a combined force of the Dawn Caste Solar, the last Lunar Exalted and our own Chosen of Journeys, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."

The woman had the full attention of her audience, all twenty recruits, Xander included, watching her with wide-eyed attention.

"Our own Cassidy Willicker, along with the two other Chosen of Serenity, deemed his memories too traumatic for him to live with, so she sealed them away, in the back of his mind. Even trying, he'll only recall vague images of his time at Drusilla's hands. _That_ is the kind of evil you'll be facing. Harris looked that evil in the eyes, and he escaped with his life. That's more than most who've faced Drusilla can say. And the only reason he did was because he is friends with Buffy Summers, the current Dawn."

Several gasps sounded at that, and Xander was distinctly uncomfortable to have all of these Exalts staring at him with awe.

After a brief pause, the elder Terrestrial continued.

"Harris is not an Exalt. He is not even, by technical definition, a heroic mortal. He is a fifteen year old boy, caught in the crossfire between Exalted. Had the Bronze Faction been the one to save him, he'd have just been dumped at the nearest hospital. We hold ourselves to a higher moral standard!" she turned back to stare at Xander, "Harris! You arrived here a mortal teenager, but you're gonna leave here a proud student of the Terrestrial Martial Arts! Cassidy, the Chosen of Journeys to whom you owe your continued existence, performed a new procedure on you during your coma. I trust you remember a lot of warmth and colors?"

Xander nodded. The woman smiled coldly.

"That'd be the Celestial Cocaine combined with some home-cooked Thaumaturgy!"

Xander blinked in surprise at that. He opened his mouth, but the terrifying red-head was talking again.

"You've got enough juice flowing through you now to put you on the level of a very, _very_ weak Terrestrial! But it's enough for our purposes. You'll find that using too much of your newfound power will give you one hell of a headache. It's better than the alternative of having to force your mind to do what you want every time you want to blow someone up with your fists! Now, punch that river in half!"

Xander blinked again, sure he'd misheard her.

"What-" he began, but suddenly she was in his face, fury in her eyes.

"Lesson one for working under my command, maggot: When I tell you to do something, _you fucking do it!_ Punch that river in half, NOW!"

Xander's mind went into what he would eventually come to dub 'panic-mode'. Without thought, he ran over to the river, and then blanked out, trying to find a way to punch it in two.

"Don't think about it, maggot! Just DO IT!"

Then, Xander _saw._ He saw the beautiful lights surrounding him, the colors running through the world, the blue aura surrounding the river, the blazing red _power_ surrounding the red-headed woman, and he knew what he had to do. He drew back his fist and drove it into the water lapping at the river's bank.

A flash of light burst through the air and with a roar of water a wave of force split the river in two, leaving a two-yard pathway between the separated walls of water. Then, it all came crashing down in a wave of roiling water. Xander stood, open-mouthed, as he realized what he'd just done.

"THAT is _exactly _what I'm talking about, maggots!" the woman was screaming behind him, "Not even an Exalt, and he does it on his first! Fucking! _Try!_ You've got no damn excuses, now, the rest of you: _Start punching that river!"_

**–The Master's Lair–**

The Master sighed as he paced his prison. The Dawn Caste had slain _all_ of his followers, and Drusilla had taken all of the new arrivals with her when she left. He was well and truly alone now. The walls binding him in this chamber were stronger than ever, and even the awful darkness beneath the Hellmouth was looking inviting now, as compared to this dull prison.

Suddenly, his nostrils twitched. He smelled...something. Sickness. Death. Hatred and poison and rotting, twisting flesh. Green light filled the room, and he turned around, hope and dread warring within his chest. A tall, muscular man stood in the middle of the room, dressed in a fine black suit, green fire glowing on his hands.

"Greetings, Heinrich," the figure said in a surprisingly soft, Russian voice, "A pleasure to meet you at last."

Wariness bloomed within his mind. No one still living should know that name. How had-

"Oh, Heinrich, do not be so arrogant. There is little that can be hidden from The Shadow Of All Things."

Red eyes narrowed.

"What do the Yozis want with me?" he demanded, something wasn't right here-

"It is not what the Yozis want, Heinrich," the stranger said, a smile in his voice, "It is what the Shadow Of All Things wants. And he wants you removed from the Hellmouth."

Hope began to grow again, alongside deep suspicion.

"That is quite generous-" the Master began, but the stranger cut him off.

"You will not think so in a moment. Goodbye, Heinrich."

The stranger threw out a hand, and a flash of green, sickly light flared, and the Master screamed as his flesh rotted and wasted away, as the fluid boiled within his eyes and his body melted and burst into dust. Heinrich Joseph Nest was no more.

"It is done, my Lord," Victor said, satisfaction evident in his tone as he lowered his hand, allowing the green fire to die away. Shadows gathered and solidified into the shape of a young girl, perhaps eleven or twelve, but spoke with the voice of a withered old man, talking over an echo of an ancient darkness without tone or even sound that was recognizable as sound. If the black, cold depths of space were audible, that would be the undertone of the old man's voice.

_**"Very impressive, Victor," **_the Shadows spoke, _**"How mighty you are, to slay a single vampire, with only your vastly superior power and the element of surprise on your side."**_

__"I am pleased you think so, my Lord," Victor said, apparently with all sincerity.

_**"Victor,"**_ the Shadows sighed in exasperation, _**"I appreciate toadying as much as the next ****Yozi, but part of Toadying is living by the nature of your patron. The constant respect, the absolute ****loyalty, the infinite reliability, the utter ****lack of betrayal,**** I just don't feel like your getting into the ****spirit**** of the thing."**_

__"My Lord, did it never occur to you that the lack of betrayal is a betrayal of your, and by extension my own, very nature? You yourself are known to do it, so it must have. Unless you simply wanted me to admit it?"

There was a silence so absolute that one might have believed that time itself had stopped. Then, a sound like a million damned souls, howling in chorus to their eternal agony, filled the chamber. The Ebon Dragon was laughing.

_**"Oh, Victor, I should never have doubted you."**_

"Thank you, My Lord."

_**"Truly, that was the most amusing thing I have heard all evening,"**_ the Shadows laughed, speaking now with the monotone voices of a thousand men and women, _**"And I heard the Deathlords swearing to work together peacefully."**_

__"That is quite a compliment then, my Lord."

_**"Come, Victor, let us return to Malfeas. The show will be starting soon, and I have our Akuma setting up the viewing stage as we speak. We won't want to miss this."**_

__"As you will, my Lord."

**–Wesley–**

Wesley ran through the streets of Sunnydale in a blind panic, ignoring all barriers and physical limitations, ignoring his Anima flaring out, terrifying the people of Sunnydale. None of them mattered in the face of what was coming. He'd barely managed to escape the Underworld undetected, and he knew how very little time he had left. He _had_ to find Buffy and Angel. They were the only ones who could help him now. His missive had been sent, but it would be at least twelve hours before any Terrestrial reinforcements showed up, and by that time, all would be lost.

The Deathlords were coming. The mere thought sent chills running down his spine. Soon, they would march out from the Shadows beneath the Hellmouth, out from the Black Cathedral, and several thousand ghosts and vampires would be loosed upon the world. Sunnydale would fall in minutes, slaughtered without hope of resistance. The human armies could, perhaps, eventually contain the hordes pouring out from the Underworld, but not the Deathlords themselves. Wesley didn't even think that he, Buffy _and_ Angel could. Which is why he wasn't planning to try. He needed the other two Celestial Exalted to help him get to the Black Cathedral. Their only hope was to stop the invasion before it happened-

Suddenly, a terrible, screaming wail filled the air, a cry of pure rage and hatred coming from the deepest pits of Hades. Horror welled up in Wesley as he stopped in the middle of the road. Off in the distance, from the direction of Sunnydale High, shadows were swirling through the air, screaming in mindless hate and pain, and the air itself was suddenly colder and heavier. A massive wave of _nothing_ expanded from the school like the blast wave of an atomic bomb, and Wesley watched in horror as everyone, all the men,women and children in the open air, screamed and died as that wave touched them. Wesley summoned his Essence and armored himself against the deathly wave, and felt its energy crashing against his defense like the ocean on an ancient cliff.

The howling faded, and Wesley was still as the evening sky turned black. The sun faded away, and Wesley knew that he was no longer in Creation. The shadows expanded, swallowing everything, pulling it greedily towards the abyss. A terrible laughter, like razor blades craving away at the edges of the soul, filled the air, and Wesley shuddered involuntarily. He knew that sound, far better than he would have liked. It was the laughter of the First and Forsaken Lion.

Wesley saw people stepping out of their cars and shops, looking up at the sky in terrified awe. Wesley opened his mouth to tell them to go back inside, but he was too late. Blurred shadows rushed out through the streets and solidified in puffs of black smoke. Pale, golden-eyed men and women with sharp fangs and demonic faces were appearing in their dozens, leering at the terrified humans.

Then, the first vampire leapt out and tore into the throat of a young man, and the slaughter began. Wesley closed his eyes to the violence and willed himself to disappear into the shadows. The vampires paid him no heed as they fed, and Wesley resumed his run to find Buffy and Angel. The mortals were, tragically, irrelevant in the long term. The only way to save as many as possible was to find Buffy and Angel and end this as quickly as they could.

He could only hope he found them before the Deathlords did.

**–Buffy–**

Screams echoed through the dead, black air as Buffy ran out into the street, Angel hot on her heels. They'd felt the sense of death and despair settle over the city, she'd seen people falling dead out Angel's window, and she knew that something terrible was happening. But this...this was beyond anything she'd seen.

The sky was completely covered by black, evil-looking clouds, casting a dark shadow over the town. The air itself seemed tainted with gray as it sapped the life and color from the world. Vampires, dozens of them, roamed the streets, accompanied by pale, armored figures wielding huge war axes. Hundreds of people were fleeing from the monsters, only to be cut down as vampires appeared in the middle of the crowds with bursts of smoke, tearing into throats and drinking deep of the life's blood of the town. The armored corpses were wading through the crowds, hacking and killing indiscriminately. Rage welled up in Buffy's chest and hate filled her eyes as she gathered her Essence, preparing for war.

Then, her gaze found one particular vampire, lifting a screaming child into the air, bearing his fangs as he prepared to end the young boy's life, and something inside Buffy snapped. In a blur of movement, she was there, pulling the child free of the vampire's grasp and punching her fist through the foul thing's skull, killing it instantly and reducing it to a pile of ashes.

Then, the killing _really_ began. Buffy shone with golden radiance as she moved with perfect grace through the fleeing crowds, tearing victims from the grips of their attackers and slaying vampires and ghosts alike.

An axe came crashing down from behind her, and her hand shot out behind her, catching the weapon and ripping it from the grasp of its wielder. The War Ghost had a moment to be surprised before she decapitated the vampire in front of her and then spun around and cut the ghost in two, tearing through armor as though it were paper. Something rushed up behind her, and she spun around, cutting a vampire in half from his shoulder to his hips, leaving the screaming creature alive for a few brief moments before its heart fell out of its body and it burst into dust. By the time this happened, though, Buffy was already gone.

There was nothing fancy about the girl's movements as she hacked and slashed her way through the crowd. There was no finesse to her technique, no death-defying acrobatics. She moved with perfect economy of motion and force, using exactly what was required to kill, no more, no less. Blades cracked and shattered on her skin on those few occasions when her foes managed to strike her, leaving small cuts and light bruises behind before the avenging angel killed them in their turn.

The simple beauty and grace in her fighting struck a stark contrast to the style of her Lunar Mate. Angel was weaving and ducking through the crowd, striking from impossible angles and appearing where he could not possibly be. Victim after victim was seemingly teleported away from their attacker in a blur of movement, only for the monster to be disemboweled from behind at an impossible distance. Glowing silver claws met ghastly fangs and soul-forged axes in brutal combat, and all fell before the unrelenting fury of the Burning Moon. Opponents who tried to break away from the fight quickly found themselves out-maneuvered and killed before they realized what was happening.

Within minutes, the entire one-hundred strong undead force attacking the street had been slaughtered. Very few mortals died, and all of the many survivors had already fled. The two Celestial Exalts were left standing in the street in front of Angel's upscale apartment building, not even breathing heavily.

Then, a loud, slow, mocking clapping sounded. Buffy and Angel spun to see the source of the noise, and both of their expressions narrowed in surprise and hatred.

Striding slowly, arrogant towards them were Caleb and Drusilla. Caleb looked no worse for wear after Wesley's assault, except for a burning black fire where his right eye had been. Drusilla looked disturbingly well, considering the damage Buffy knew she had done to the bitch.

"Now, that's what I call a party!" Caleb exclaimed cheerfully, while Drusilla grinned madly, long, bladed chains extending from her back and arms as she walked. Buffy didn't bother to respond, or even curse. She simply ran at the Abyssal Exalted, Angel following at her side, intent on killing these abominations.

Drusilla blurred as her chains lashed out at Angel, who ducked and weaved between the slashing blades and delivered a punch that sent Drusilla flying through a store window, the Lunar roaring after her. Caleb merely grinned as Buffy closed with him, and then his arm blurred as his fist impacted with her rib cage, stopping her in mid-leap and sending her flying back, her chest exploding with pain. It felt like every rib had shattered in her chest and sent the shards flying through her chest muscles, shredding meat and tissue in an inferno of agony. She bared her teeth in rage as Caleb blurred again and was suddenly in front of her.

She back-flipped away from the Abyssal, catching her foe on the chin with her heels and landing easily on her feet, absently wondering where her axe had gone. Caleb grinned at her and clenched his fists, and suddenly sharp bone spines sprouted from his knuckles, and suddenly he was punching and she was dodging, the pain in her chest forgotten in the rush of combat. A fist grazed her cheek, opening up several shallow cuts where the spines struck skin, and Buffy threw a punch that could have dented solid steel, but that Caleb simply knocked aside as he closed in to knee her in the groin.

Pain exploded between her legs as the blow crushed sensitive skin against bone and muscle, and Buffy gasped in agony, giving Caleb the opening he needed to jam his fingers in her eyes. She howled in pain and jumped back as her eyes flooded with tears. The pain was startling and severe, and she rolled blindly to her left as she heard Caleb approach.

"You're fighting well, little lady," her foe praised mockingly, and Buffy's heart leapt as she heard Angel scream in agony somewhere in the distance, "But you're just not on my level. I've been an Exalt for coming on ten years now, and I'm afraid I'm just _better than you!"_

Caleb's last words were hissed as he drove his fist into her ribs, and Buffy felt like a grenade had gone off in her gut. She felt the force of the blow shatter her ribs and shred her muscles, felt, _actually felt_ as the energy from the blow tore apart her intestines and ruptured her stomach, and the _agony was unbearable-_

Then Caleb's head exploded. Buffy watched in agonized shock as her blurry vision was somehow able to see his eyes burst out of his skull, as his skull itself crumbled and shattered into itself, as his brain was smashed and crushed by the force of the blow that had destroyed the Abyssal's head, and she saw the barest expression of surprise on Caleb's face as the shattered shards of bone tore out of his face and shredded the skin. The Dusk Caste Abyssal fell to the ground, well and truly dead. Buffy blinked the tears from her damaged eyes, and was able to make out a blurry silver figure standing in front of her.

"Buffy, are you alright?" came Angel's voice, and Buffy managed to smile as she shook her head, and then vomited. She heard Angel's muttered curse of horror, and she was able to make out chunks of flesh and blood in her stomach contents, and she felt a burst of fear as she realized just how badly Caleb had hurt her.

"Christ, Buffy, you need help," Angel said softly, as he reached down to pick her up, and then stopped as footsteps approached faster than should be possible, and a familiar British voice spoke.

"Don't worry, Angel," came Wesley's voice, "I've got her."

A light kick struck her back, and instantly the pain in her guts faded away to a dull ache. She felt her ribs numb and then repair themselves as healing Essence ran through her.

"Buffy, look at me," came Wesley's voice again, now in front of her, and she turned her still blurry gaze to the Sidereal, barely able to see his figure before her.

"Damaged lenses, possible cornea damage," he said flatly, "Nothing I can't fix." He then lightly slapped her face, and Buffy felt the strangest sensation of the blur in her vision being knocked out of her eyes. Her vision returned to full clarity, and she blinked a few times to get the oily sensation out of her eyes.

"Wesley, what's-" Buffy began to ask, but Wesley cut her off, anticipating her question.

"The Deathlords are invading," he said flatly, "There is a Jade Prison, a device that holds five Solar Exaltations, hidden within the depths of the Hellmouth. They've turned Sunnydale into a Shadowland, a piece of the Underworld, in order to properly invade. Given enough time, they'll make a permanent base here. There isn't a military force alive that could stop them if they are allowed to hold Sunnydale and get the prison. We've got to stop them, tonight."

"How?" Angel demanded, "Where are they-"

"Beneath the school," Wesley interrupted again, "Within the Hellmouth itself. They're searching for the Prison as we speak. _We need to move."_

"What about the townspeople?" Buffy asked, "They're defenseless!"

Wesley shook his head.

"They're dead anyways if we don't stop the Deathlords. The best thing you can do now is get to the Hellmouth and end this while we still can."

"But-"

"He's right, Buffy," Angel said quietly, "I hate it, but he's right. Every minute we debate, more people are going to die. We need to stop this while there's still a Sunnydale to save."

Buffy felt like she was being torn in two. She knew it was her responsibility to stop the Deathlords from getting the Jade Prison, no matter what, but her heart cried out for her to help the town she was growing to love. In the end, though, she knew she had no choice. To Angel and Wesley, her dilemma appeared only as a split-second of hesitation.

"Lead the way," she said finally, and hoped that she could be forgiven for leaving these people to die...

**–To be continued...–**


	10. Solar Hero Style 2

**A/N: I'm taking some serious artistic license with the Shadowland for story purposes, so please don't tell me I got stuff wrong. I'm well aware of that.**

** A/N2: For my stories, vampires die upon destruction of the heart or severe damage to the brain. Thus, in my works, rifle and heavy-pistol rounds to the head, but usually not the heart, tend to be fatal to vampires.**

** A/N3: The Sidereal Martial Arts Charms in this chapter were all nerfed for story balance, but they're all actual charms.**

** A/N4: The Deathlords are equivalent to high-Essence Solars. They don't have every charm, and they aren't all Essence 10. They are at a far more sane level of power. FaFL is Essence 10, Walker and Lover are both Essence 8, and Mask is Essence 9.**

** –Black Cathedral–**

Three pairs of footsteps echoed on the blackened floors of the Black Cathedral as three massive figures strode towards the resting place of the ancient Manse's Heartstone. One was a nine-foot tall warrior, clad head-to-toe in super-heavy soul-steel plate mail, a massive, double-edged blade held loosely in his right hand. Walking with him on either side were two smaller, but still terrifying, figures. One was a tall, black chain-male clad woman, pale-skinned and beautiful in her deathly glory. The other was a massive man, easily seven feet tall, carrying a grand cleaver almost as large as him, clad in blood-red robes and a massive black chest plate, ghostly blue-white skin glowing in the darkness of the once-stronghold of The Shadow Of All Things.

The First And Forsaken Lion, The Lover Clad In Raiment Of Tears, and The Walker In The Darkness strode steadily up to the alter which held the Ebon Eye. The three terrible beings stood in silence for a moment as they stared at that ancient artifact of power. The Eye radiated an aura of pure darkness, cold tendrils of pain and gripping weakness reaching out and coiling around unwary minds. The Lion felt the intrusive presence and roared in sudden rage. A snarl of hatred, he brought his massive blade down on the alter. A bright, awful burst of power and Essence exploded in the air above the alter, throwing back the blow and staggering the First And Forsaken Lion, knocking him back a step. He threw several more blows, each meeting with a similar lack of success. Finally, the Lover sighed and spoke, annoyance clear in her tone.

**"Are you quite done with your tantrum?"**

A snarl split the air and the Lion's armored left hand grabbed the shocked Lover by the throat and threw her into the shadowy wall, denting the darkness with the force of the throw. Tendrils of shadow attempted to seize the Lover, but she tore away effortlessly, glaring at the Lion, who screamed in rage once more.

_**"IT ISN'T HERE!" **_he roared, _**"IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE HEARTSTONE! WHERE IS THE PRISON?!"**_

__The Walker sighed, placing his hand over the flayed skull armoring his face.

**"It's here," **he said through gritted teeth, **"It just isn't where we thought it was. When one option doesn't work out, that doesn't mean we throw a temper tantrum. It means we explore **_**alternative options.**_** Now shut-up and start looking."**

_**"YOU DARE-?!"**_ the Lion began to roar, but the Walker cut him off.

**"Yes, I dare!"**__he snarled, **"I came here to retrieve a Jade Prison, not to listen to you yell! So Shut. Up. And start. **_**Looking.**_**"**

**"Walker is right, Lion,"** the Lover said reproachfully. The armored Deathlord snarled at her, but backed down.

_**"Fine,"**_he snarled angrily, _**"Do you have any ideas for where to start, Walker?"**_

The Walker was silent a moment as he examined the alter, running his hand over it, Essence crackling as he attempted to pry apart the barrier.

**"This is a new defense,"** he said finally, flatly, **"Someone added this barrier just a day or so ****ago. I sense...powerful sorcery, Solar Circle, I think. And a hint of Infernal presence."**

_**"Well, what does that mean?!"**_ the Lion demanded impatiently.

**"It means that the Fiend Caste Infernal knew we were coming," **the Lover answered quietly, **"I have always loathed that boy."**

_**"Well, can the barrier be broken?!"**_

**"Yes,"** the Walker said, hesitantly, **"But I'm not sure how good of an idea that would be."**

_**"Why not?"**_ the Lion asked, this time, a hint of grudging curiosity in his voice. Without the Mask of Winters, the Walker was the closest thing they had to a true expert on Sorcery. As his temper calmed, the Lion realized that to ignore him on this matter would be akin to ignoring himself on matters of military strategy.

**"I believe that this obvious shield protecting the Heartstone is a ploy,"** the Walker explained calmly, circling the barrier, **"At best, I think it is meant to force us to waste time and effort until reinforcements can arrive."**

** "And at worst?" **the Lover asked, glaring hatefully at the Heartstone.

**"At worst, it detonates the Manse," **the Walker replied with a meaningful look at his fellow Deathlords. The Lion visibly flinched, and the Lover blanched as they remembered the last time they'd been in an exploding Hellmouth.

_**"Don't disturb it, then,"**_ the Lion said after a moment. The Walker snorted derisively at the obviousness of the order.

**"So, what do we do, then?"** the Lover asked, looking around the room. The structure itself was massive, but it didn't appear to have any additional chambers.

**"Wait silently while I attempt to find any hidden areas or possible bypasses,"** the Walker said flatly, and resumed pacing around the room, casting various charms at the walls, the alter and the floor, leaving his fellow Deathlords to stew in their frustration and mutual dislike.

**–Buffy–**

As she stepped out from Angel's car, Buffy stared in horrified awe at the school in front of her. Angel and Wesley walked up beside her, equally affected by the sight.

The sky above the school was a boiling, churning mess of black shadows, with bolts of black lightning crackling and arcing between the clouds. The school itself was blackened by the powers tearing through it. Dozens of vampires and ghosts stood in front of the entrance, blocking the path of the Celestial Exalted.

"So," Buffy said quietly, "I'm guessing the Hellmouth is beneath the school, then?"

Wesley nodded.

"So," she continued, "what do we do?"

"Kill them all," Wesley replied simply, "Does anyone have any guns?"

Angel and Buffy both turned to look at him in surprise.

"Um, I have a pistol in the glove compartment..." Angel trailed off as Wesley pushed past him and reached into the car. He came out with a large, heavy-looking pistol, a small, cold smile on his face.

"Desert Eagle, Fifty Action Express, Seven Shots," Wesley recited, pulling back the slide to check the chamber, flicking the safety off, aiming at the nervous looking vampires, and firing. A deafening blast echoed through the shadowy night as the heavy round blasted out of the gun, followed by six more of the same, and Buffy and Angel watched in stunned shock as the dozens of vampires jerked back as one and burst into dust, save a few who remained on the ground, twitching and jerking.

Wesley spun the pistol theatrically and blew the smoke from the muzzle.

"I love this gun," he said with distinct satisfaction as he ejected the used magazine and slid in a fresh one with a click. Then, without further ado, he began striding towards the blackened school, a still stunned Buffy and Angel on his heels.

As they walked through the door, a truly eerie silence hit them, along with a sense of dread and doom. Death hung in the air as a palpable presence, weighing down on their shoulders. After a few moments of walking through the soundless, utterly black halls, Wesley began speaking, as much for the sound itself as to relay his information.

"The Deathlords we're facing today are The First And Forsaken Lion, The Lover Clad In Raiment Of Tears, and The Walker In The Darkness," he said as though reading from a textbook, "I believe that they will be together when we find them. Whatever happens, do not allow yourself to be drawn into a fight with them."

"Wait," Buffy frowned in confusion, "Why are we here if we aren't going to-"

"The Deathlords are vastly more powerful than anything you can imagine," Angel answered flatly as Wesley opened his mouth, "All three of us, plus Giles, wherever that bastard is, couldn't even hope to stop _one_ of them, let alone three. Our goal isn't to win, it's not to lose."

"I don't think I follow," Buffy said, trying to see what Angel was saying. This time, it was Wesley who answered.

"We don't have a chance of openly fighting them," he explained, "So we're going to sabotage their efforts and deny them their prize. The Deathlords are their own worst enemies. They don't trust each other, they don't like each other, and they will take any excuse to start fighting amongst themselves. I believe that if I can get close enough, I can get the Jade Prison. This will force them to try to stop me. Then, when I've got their attention, I'll allow the Lover to take it from me. She will attempt to flee, and the other Deathlords will attempt to stop her. At this point, Angel will steal the Jade Prison back while their distracted, and you, Buffy, will need to remove the Heartstone from the Manse."

"What'll that do?" Buffy asked curiously, beginning to feel a little better about the situation, like she was where she belonged. Like she was _born_ to do this.

"If I'm right," Wesley smiled grimly, "It'll collapse the Manse. Back when the Black Cathedral, the structure at the center of the Hellmouth, was first captured near the end of the Primordial War, the Solars who took it reprogrammed the Manse's defenses to only recognize Solar Exalted as the rightful owners. It should allow you to simply take the stone. The Deathlords haven't had enough time to make this a permanent Shadowland, so I believe the removal of the Heartstone will collapse all magical defenses in the vicinity, including whatever is maintaining the Shadowland. Just make sure not to break the Heartstone. That's what Chejop Kejak did during the Great Contagion and, well...you know how that worked out."

Buffy nodded.

"You get them fighting, Angel gets the Prison, I get the Heartstone, and be sure not to break it. Got it."

Wesley nodded approvingly.

"Good," he said as they walked into the library, "Because we're here."

The library wasn't a library anymore. The books and shelves were all gone, even the floor was missing. All that was left was a long, slanting path into the darkness. Buffy grinned.

"My turn to be useful!" she chirped happily, and allowed her Caste Mark to flare brightly. Dawn's light pierced the shadows, and their way forward was clear.

**–Giles–**

It was so, so much worse than he'd thought, he realized as he, Quentin and two dozen Dragon-Blooded arrived outside of Sunnydale. An immense, black dome of shadow surrounded the town, drawing Sunnydale into the bosom of the Underworld.

"Well, Rupert," Quentin said gruffly, "It appears that you were right to be concerned."

The Elder Sidereal was a short, slim man, not much taller than Buffy. Brown, well-groomed hair covered his head in a short, very professional cut, and he wore a Lamellar of pure Starmetal. The man didn't seem imposing, but to those who knew him, he was one of the most terrifying beings alive. Quentin Travers, Chosen of Battles, had been the head of the Bronze Faction since the early fourteen-hundreds, and was one of the most power Exalted in existence. He was a master of the Obsidian Shards of Infinity style of Sidereal Martial Arts, one of the most potent combat styles ever designed. Giles was one of those who knew that he had also mastered the other forms of Sidereal Martial Arts, not out of necessity, but out of _boredom. _Giles had the utmost respect for the leader of his faction, and he couldn't think of anyone he'd rather have by his side in a situation like this.

Quentin turned to the Dragon-Blooded soldiers.

"We're going into a very hostile situation, men," he addressed firmly, "Beyond this wall is a Shadowland, an unknown number of vampires and hostile ghosts, and nearly thirty-thousand civilians. Giles and I will be heading to the center in order to end this as soon as possible. Your job, however, is to kill as many hostiles as possible. If it is expedient, you may lead civilians to safety, but _only_ if it doesn't detract from the primary goal. The most important thing is to weaken the enemy as much as possible. Understood?"

_"Sir, yes, sir!"_ the Terrestrials chorused as one, readying their daiklaves.

"Good!" Quentin barked, "Move out!"

And with that order, the group charged through the shadowy wall and into the Shadowland.

_Infinite cold, endless empty despair, timeless absence of life-_

Giles staggered out of the wall and into the war-zone that was Sunnydale, California. Dozens of vampires were charging a barricade of piled furniture and cars at the end of the street Giles had appeared on. He looked around, and realized that he was alone. He cursed as he realized that you must not simply appear where you ran in.

A burst of cracks echoed through the cold, dead air as mixed police and civilian forces fired into the vampires with little effect. Giles saw something fly over the end of the barricade and crash into the vampires, exploding into flame. Howls of agony echoed through the knight as vampires burn and disintegrated.

_"Fire works better than bullets on these demons, or aliens, or whatever we're dealing with!"_ came a crackling voice from Giles ankle, and he looked down to see a headset. He picked it up and spoke into it.

"Hello, hello, this is Rupert Giles, I'm here to help. What you're fighting are vampires, except for the ones in armor. The vampires have the golden eyes and ridged foreheads. Fire, wood to the heart, decapitation and rifle-rounds to the head kill. Small arms fire is essentially useless, unless you get headshots. Cranial trauma can be temporarily crippling."

_"Holy shit, vampires, seriously-DIE ASSHOLE!"_ a burst of shots echoed on the other end of the headset, and then the voice came back.

_"Sorry about that, one of the bastards nearly got me. Good call on the head-shots, my boys are already passing word on the rest of the channels. And forgive my appalling lack of manners for not introducing myself, but it's a bit hectic. I'm Hector Brodshaw, chief of police. Say, you have anything to do with that glowy silver guy and his girlfriend we saw drive by awhile back? Saved our asses when they ran down a bunch of freaks in armor."_

"Yes, actually," Giles blinked in surprise, "And it is very important that I find them. Do you know where they were going?"

_"They were heading out towards the high-school, where all the monsters seem to be coming from, it's-"_ a terrible scream cut off the signal, along with a burst of gunfire and demonic laughter. Giles closed his eyes in respect for a moment. He honestly didn't think a mortal could last so long, and still be fighting during an incursion like this.

Then his eyes shot open and he turned his gaze towards the school, and the massive shadow-storm brewing over it. His resolve stiffened and he made a mental note and set off along the most expedient path to his goal.

_Appointment: Buffy, Angel, Quentin Travers in half an hour, Re:Re: Preventing the apocalypse._

**–?–**

** "My lord!" a breathless female voice cried out in the shadows, "The Sidereals are intervening!"**

** A cold, heartless chuckle echoed throughout the chamber.**

_**"Good. Perhaps they'll manage to blow up my idiot siblings again. This time, without me present."**_

__**"No, this is bad!" the woman's voice exclaimed, panicked, which caught the attention of her master. He'd never heard her this upset.**

** "Why? What are they doing?"**

** "In half an hour, they will breach the Black Cathedral and detonate the Manse, unless we intervene! Travers is there, along with the Dawn and Full-Moon, if the Manse detonates, the Jade Prison will release all of the Solar Shards!"**

_**"We planned for that, did we not? Better free than with my siblings-"**_

__**"There are several hundred heroic mortals fighting for their lives in Sunnydale right now! If the Prison breaks, a full Solar Circle will Exalt at the same time, and the Gold Faction are already on their way. I can't do this without showing my hand, I need help, my lord!**

** The Mask of Winters was silent as he considered his options. He really didn't want to involve himself, but a full Solar Circle, in the hands of the Gold Faction...no. It was intolerable. Better free than with his siblings, but better with his siblings than with the Sidereals.**

_**"What needs to change?"**_

__**"Stop the Walker before he can dissolve the protections over the Heartstone. The Heartstone is keeping the Behemoth imprisoned, if it is removed, the Behemoth awakes, along with the Jade Prison! Make sure that the others are gone, and I can go back and get the Prison myself, without anyone being the wiser."**

** In a burst of unlight, the Mask of Winters vanished, and the Green Lady smiled in the darkness.**

** That had been **_**way**_** too close.**

** –Buffy–**

After what seemed like an eternity spent walking through the shadowy tunnels, Buffy, Wesley and Angel found themselves in front of the most impressive structure any of them had ever seen.

A massive cathedral, as black as void between stars, rose up from the shadows, extending what seemed like miles up towards the far distant ceiling. A sense of oppressive darkness weighed on their shoulders, different from the despairing emptiness of the Shadowland. This darkness was...older, far older. It was the darkness that darkness feared. Before the planet was covered in electric light, before man invented fire, before the stars themselves shone bright in the sky, this darkness watched from its place in the shadows, a waking nightmare unlike anything that had ever or would ever exist. An ancient malice, an evil so pure that it even struck at itself, content to cause pain and misery, no matter who suffered.

An ancient, primordial fear welled up in Buffy's chest, and she quailed in the face of that darkness. The brilliant light on her forehead dimmed for a moment, until a bright, silver light burst into sight, coating her in its warmth, and she felt Angel's strong hand clasp her own, and she squeezed tight, grateful for the reassurance. Her Caste Mark flared again, and the group stepped forward, walking through the massive double doors of the Black Cathedral.

They stepped along the dark stone floor, down a path through a main room that could seat tens of thousands, but could be crossed in moments. Spatial laws seemed not to matter in this dark place, and Buffy blinked several times as she tried to reorient herself.

As they approached the altar at the far end of the room, Buffy looked upon her opponents for the first time.

She saw The First And Forsaken Lion first. He was a massive figure, armored in shadow and darkness, hatred flowing from him like a poisonous cloud. A massive blade, easily a foot taller than Buffy herself, was driven point-first into the ground, the Lion's hands clasped on the hilt. Across from him, lazing on one of the pews, was a woman clad in black chainmaille, a whip coiled on her exposed stomach like a snake. It was hard to judge her size, but Buffy could tell that she was a good few inches taller than Angel. The last figure was standing before the altar, a tall, terrible figure in a flowing, blood-red robe and black chest-plate. A terrible, evil-looking axe was slung across his back, and Buffy could feel evil rolling off of these figures in waves.

Suddenly, the massive armored warrior turned to look at her, and Buffy nearly screamed. She wanted nothing more than to flee from that terrible gaze, to crawl beneath her bed and never come out, to bury herself deep beneath the ground, so long as it hid her from that gaze-

_Strength, my child._

And the spell broke. Buffy blinked, and met the Deathlord's gaze. He no longer seemed so terrifying. He was frightening, of course, but more mundanely so. He was an evil she could defy.

_**"Hmm. It appears that some mice have scurried past our sentinels,"**_ the warrior boomed, his voice a physical thing, striking Buffy and nearly forcing her to step back.

**"Scurry, scurry, little mouse," **the woman sing-songed, her voice full of disinterest, **"Who's that scurrying in my house?"**

The Lover was suddenly standing, a vicious grin on her face as she strode towards the three Celestials, her whip uncoiling of its own accord, snapping with an echoing crack at the ground, hungry for blood.

"I believe that that's my cue," a very proper British-accented voice echoed, and the Lover howled as something struck her in the face, shattering her nose and sending blood gushing down her chin. At the same moment, the Lion's head snapped back and the Walker was knocked away from the alter, clutching his face.

A blur of movement passed through the room and Buffy saw a man leap up and punch the Lover in her nose, while the Deathlord slashed out ineffectually around the man, never actually hitting him. The newcomer jumped up and kicked the Lover in the chest, sending her sprawling across the floor, and then vanished as the Lion slashed out with his sword, sending a jagged black bolt of power where the man had been standing a moment prior.

The man suddenly reappeared behind the Lion and kicked him in the back of the head, knocking him forward before vanishing again. Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy saw Wesley vanish as well, and she tensed, waiting for her time to strike.

The man reappeared in front of the Walker, and the Lion slashed out again with his sword, and a wave of dark energy flew out from the blade and passed through the man without effect, and proceeded to cut a deep, messy gash in the chest of the Walker, who howled in agony as he clutched at his ruined torso.

Suddenly, though, the Walker convulsed and the man exploded out from the wound in a shower of gore and flew straight at the Lion, landing a terrible blow which rang against the metal helmet, echoing throughout the room, even as the Walker faded away, either dead or retreated, Buffy wasn't sure.

Then, a crack echoed and the Lover's whip wrapped around the strange warrior's ankle before he could vanish again, and dark energy crackled along the whip. The man fell, jerking and twitching to the floor at the Lion's feet. The Lion dispassionately raised his sword and stabbed deep down into the stranger's chest. The entire fight had taken all of three seconds. Buffy thought she heard a cry of '_Travers!'_ from the shadows, but she couldn't be sure.

Then, an unmistakeable whisper in her ear from Wesley.

_"Get the stone!"_

Buffy moved instantly, making a run for the altar while she had the chance. She heard a roar behind her as Angel leapt in front of the Lover's whip, taking the blow meant for her, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Giles materialize in front of another power bolt from the First and Forsaken Lion, only for the energy to wash over him harmlessly.

_**"STOP HER!"**_ the Lion roared, and threw another bolt just as Buffy reached the alter and picked up the stone. She felt black power touching at her mind for a brief moment before the Lion's blast struck her in the back and sent her flying forward, smashing headfirst into the wall, and the stone dropped beside her. She looked up, and saw Angel held aloft by the Lover, covered in bloody wounds. The stranger, Travers, or whoever he was, was bleeding out on the floor, and Giles was lying slumped against a wall, a great gash on his head. Wesley was nowhere to be seen, and the Lion was walking towards her, pointing his blade, dark energy crackling as he prepared to end her life, and Buffy knew she couldn't allow this monster to get the Prison. If she couldn't win, then she could at least settle for not losing, and she took the only move she had left.

At that moment, several things happened. The First And Forsaken Lion fired his bolt of energy at Buffy, even as the young Solar channeled her Essence into one, final blow and brought her fist down on the Heartstone, shattering it utterly. A burst of blackest shadow exploded out from the stone, shredding the Lion's bolt, even as an inhuman scream tore through the shadows, and Buffy saw, out of the corner of her eye, a tall, bloody masked figure vanish, fleeing from the oncoming wave.

The shadows tore Angel from the Lover's grip, sending the wounded Lunar flying as the shadows swirled together into a massive maelstrom of darkness and fear. The Lion roared briefly, and tried one last time to strike at Buffy, but both he and the Lover winked out of existence. The force of the shadows picked Buffy up and threw her around the room, ghastly, half-formed things of madness and hatred tearing at her, screaming mindless obscenities until a large body crashed into hers and gripped her tight. Warm silver light washed over her, and she allowed her Lunar Mate to hold her as they waited for the darkness to consume them.

Shadows were being torn from the walls in twisting strands of blackness as the ancient temple was unwoven, its source of power finally destroyed. She caught a glimpse of a dark, shadowy beast roaring in rage and pain below her as the temple consumed its life force in a futile attempt to maintain itself. A glittering red orb flew out from the darkness beneath the temple, and Buffy reached out as it flew past, catching in her hand. It was smaller than she would have thought, no larger than a baseball. She clenched her fist with all her strength, and smiled triumphantly as the Jade Prison shattered. A brilliant burst of golden light flashed, and Buffy felt a shared joy of freedom after millenia after millenia of imprisonment, and she smiled as the last of the shadows dissolved, and as the world began to spin, faster and faster and faster, until she was sure she'd be torn to shreds, until finally, everything was absolutely still.

After what might have been an eternity or seconds of absolute darkness and silence, Buffy opened her eyes. Nothing changed. She summoned her Essence, and her Caste Mark flared to life. She saw Angel climbing to his feet, groaning in pain. Buffy looked around, and saw Giles stand up, head in his hands, swaying on his feet. Wesley was kneeling over Travers, kicking the elder Sidereal until healed. The Sidereals walked slowly over to Buffy and Angel.

The small, deadly warrior stuck out his hand as he approached Buffy, and after a moment she took it. He shook her hand vigorously, an approving smile on his face.

"I'm Quentin Travers, Chosen of Battles, and that was some damn fine work back there, Miss Summers," he praised, "Damn fine!"

"Yes, Buffy," Giles smiled wearily, wiping the blood from his face with a handkerchief, "How does it feel to have averted your first apocalypse?"

Buffy was quiet for a moment as she thought.

"Painful," she finally settled on. Quentin let out a bark of laughter and slapped her on the back, despite being several feet in front of her.

"And it just gets worse!" the deceptively young looking Exalt exclaimed, "But we'll make a hero out of you yet, my girl! Giles will be stepping up your training in the Celestial Martial Arts, believe you me! For now, though, I need to get back to England and start regrowing my innards."

With that, Travers blurred into motion and was running back up towards the surface.

"I'm afraid I need to go, as well," Wesley said apologetically, "I need to see how your young friend is doing. With any luck, I should be able to bring you up next week," and with those words, Wesley, too, vanished into the shadows, before Buffy could so much as ask about Xander.

"Damned Viziers," Angel grumbled, and Giles cleared his throat pointedly.

"Need a cough drop?" the Lunar asked cheekily, and Giles sighed and gave up.

"Well," he said, "I'm afraid I won't be able to mysteriously vanish on you today, Buffy, and if it isn't too much trouble, I could use some help walking. I'm afraid that blow drained away all of my Essence, in addition to cracking my skull open."

"Sure," Buffy smiled tiredly as her head throbbed with pain, "I think we could all probably use some support right now."

As she took Giles arm around her neck, she chuckled as a thought came to her.

"What?" Angel and Giles asked at once.

"I just realized that all of this has happened, and it isn't even Thanksgiving yet. I wonder what the _rest_ of the year is going to be like."

And with that, the three Celestial Exalted walked up out of the darkness, blissfully unaware of the eyes watching their exit.

**–?–**

_**"That was...interesting."**_

__**"To say the least."**

_**"Didn't you tell me that we'd be dealing with a full Solar Circle right now?"**_

** "No, I said we **_**might**_**."**

_**"I don't believe you."**_

__**"So, why did you save that Solar from the Lion's attack?"**

_**"Excuse me?"**_

__**"I saw you. That blow should have cut her in half, **_**would**_** have cut her in half if you hadn't shielded her when you did."**

_**"If the Lion wants somebody dead, that is reason enough for me to spare them."**_

__**"**_**I**_** think you're just going soft."**

_**"Do you **__**want**__** to die horribly?"**_

__**"Methinks the Mask doth protest too much."**

_**"If you're going to imitate me, at least get my voice right."**_

__**"I can't. I'm a female Sidereal, you're the ancient undead spirit of a First Age Solar."**

_**"Then stop imitating me."**_

__**"Spoilsport."**

** –End Chapter–**

Next is the Epilogue of Season One, and then onwards to Season Two.


	11. Season 1 Epilogue

Aftermath: Solar Hero Style

**A/N: I know this arc wasn't the best, but I think I've found a good groove. The next Season will be a lot longer, and a lot more complex, so expect a vast improvement in quality and pacing.**

**A/N2: Some good songs for Exalted:**

**Chosen of Secrets: Secret, by the Pierces**

**Renegade Abyssal: Wake Me Up Inside (Evanescence) and No Light (3rd Strike)**

**Solar: Indestructible (Disturbed), Black Wind, Fire and Steel (Manowar), Sons of Odin (Manowar)**

**Infernal: King of Kings (Manowar, also fits Solars), Return of the Warlord (Manowar), Princes of the Universe (Queen), Born of Fire (Slayer, only fits pro-Reclamation Infernals)**

**Loyalist Abyssal: Hands of Doom (Manowar), House of Death (Manowar)**

**General Exalted: God or Man (Manowar, fits any Exalt who doesn't know what they are), Threshold (Slayer, fits a Limit Break)**

**–Buffy–**

It was a surprisingly pretty day, she reflected absently, all things considering. The air was fresh and clean, despite the horror and violence of the previous weekend. The Terrestrial Exalted had done a pretty amazing job of clearing out the vampires, and the Sidereal-controlled work crews did the necessary repairs to minimize damages, and all seemed back to normal. Even the school had reopened, despite not having a library anymore. Her mother and Dawn had survived, and apparently the Dragon-Blooded had gotten to the hospital just in time to save the patients, Willow included, who was out and doing fine. She still hadn't seen Xander, but Wesley had told her he'd be available to visit over Thanksgiving break in two weeks, so there was that to look forward to. The Hellmouth was safe, the Deathlord's had been driven back, and everything had worked out.

So why did she feel so uneasy?

_A dark, armored figure, raising his blade as he approached her-_

She shuddered as she remembered how close she had come to dying. That..._thing_ had been the most terrifying being she'd ever met. Looking back, she honestly didn't know how she'd managed to make it through that fight without collapsing in fear...

**"That's easy," **a chipper voice said from beside her, making her jump in fright, **"That's because you're a Solar!"**

She was surprised to see her Shadow, Emily, walking beside her, seemingly ignorant of the bright sun shining down upon them.

"Hey, haven't seen you in awhile," she greeted with a slight smile.

**"You haven't needed me," **Emily said simply, **"You need to stop worrying so much about might-have-beens. All that matters is that you won, and more of the bad guys died than your guys."**

Buffy frowned at that.

"That seems pretty callous-" she began to argue, but Emily just shook her head, an indulgent smile on her face.

**"Oh, to be young again,"** she sighed, and suddenly turned serious, **"You've gotta put things in perspective: When those people die, they don't just disappear, they go and reincarnate, becoming a new person. All they lose is their memories, it's not like that **_**really**_** die. That's the beauty of the cycle. No one ever really dies. Death is just a form of birth."**

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean that their families won't miss them," Buffy disagreed, "Or that dying doesn't hurt."

**"Solars can't afford to worry about stuff like that, Buffy,"** Emily chided gently, **"It's your job to focus on the big picture, so you can save as many people as possible. Not to worry about every little casualty. That way, madness lies."**

"I can't just ignore people getting hurt," Buffy returned sharply, "That's not something I can do."

**"You'd be surprised what you're capable of, Buffy," **Emily said with an odd little smile, **"But in any case, I wasn't suggesting that you ignore their plight. I was just saying you shouldn't dwell on it. Be sad for them for a moment, and then move on and focus on making sure that everyone who's still alive is safe."**

Buffy thought about that for a moment.

"I guess that makes some sense," she said slowly, "But I still don't want to just...write people off like that. It just seems so..._cold."_

Emily smiled sympathetically.

**"That's the price you pay for your powers, I'm afraid," **she said softly, **"Leaders are the ones who make the tough decisions, so that others don't have to. Sometimes, people die. It's a fact of life. All that we can do is make sure that as many people as we can help live as long as possible. If you focus too much on the dead, you'll end up ignoring the living, and that way leads to becoming a Deathlord."**

Buffy started at that, looking at Emily in surprise.

**"Where did you think they came from?" **Emily asked softly, **"The sad truth is, the Deathlords were once Solars, just like you. But they couldn't handle the pressure. Slowly, one by one, they fell into the slippery slope of seeking to defy death. They learned the dark art of Necromancy, and lost their souls in the process. They now seek to end all life, and force everyone to live forever in the Underworld as a ghost. The Deathlords feel that living an eternal, wretched half-life with all of your memories intact is preferable to death and reincarnation. The dark spirits that give them their might reinforce this believe, raising their hubris to the point that they cannot conceive of life as anything more than an endless cycle of suffering. They are blind to the madness of their Abyssal servants, focused only on ending all life."**

Buffy was quiet as she digested this new information.

"I guess I still have a lot to learn, huh?" she said quietly. Emily smiled reassuringly.

**"You're still young, Buffy. You have time. Just listen to me, and you'll be just fine."**

**–Willow–**

Willow reclined on her bed, hands cushioning her head, staring at the ceiling, reflecting on her life so far. She'd never done drugs. She never drank. She was a virgin, and hadn't had her first kiss yet. She almost always ate healthy, and frequently exercised her brain.

Honestly. There was absolutely _no_ good reason for her to be seeing colors dancing along the ceiling, a dull smile on her face and an light, giddy feeling in her heart. She giggled as a bright burst of color turned the room a greenish-purple shade, and she decided not to worry about it so much.

**–Xander–**

Xander inhaled the clean, fresh night air as he stood on one foot, his left leg crossing his right thigh, his hands clasped into a praying position, eyes closed, as he focused on maintaining his balance, using his newfound Essence to be aware of everything around him. He could see, even through his eyelids, the soft, almost invisible aura of the trees, the simple blue glow of the river behind him, the shimmering green grass beneath his feet. All was connected through Essence. With his sight, he could _see_ everything, including the magnificent red aura of flame and power that was observing him, making sure he didn't falter.

Three weeks ago, he knew he could never have done this. He'd have been bored out of his mind, assuming he had been physically capable of this, but now...it was actually enjoyable. He liked the peace this offered him, the chance to meditate on the world, to test his sensory skills, to really _see_ the world as it truly was.

He couldn't wait to see Buffy next week. He could only imagine what her aura would look like...

**–Giles–**

Giles sat quietly in his reclining chair, reading his copy of _Oadenthol's Codex._ He wasn't a Thaumaturge himself, although he did have a passing knowledge of the art, and was able to appreciate the intrinsic beauty of the more mundane forms of magic. Thaumaturgy had a unique power all its own, and anyone with Essence could use it, so long as they had the drive. Something about the idea had always been, in the far, far back of his mind, quite appealing.

He wondered why these thoughts were coming now, foolish notions that he had thought discarded when he finally accepted his responsibilities as a Chosen of Secrets, all those decades ago...

**–Wesley–**

Wesley stood still at the top of the snow-capped mountain, armored in Essence, ignoring the freezing wind that sought to sap away his strength. There were few things more beautiful than a sunrise from the top of the mountain, and Wesley found himself in need of a little beauty right now. Things were going to get worse soon, he knew. The war he'd started in Montreal between the Midnight and the Slayer was coming to a close. The Slayer had destroyed the vampires in the area, slaughtered the Terrestrial Akuma serving the Midnight, and it wouldn't be much more than a few hours before he Slayer killed the Midnight. And then, it would be on its way to Sunnydale.

Blazing hatred surged in Wesley's stomach as he thought of the laughing, monstrous visage that he'd first encountered all those decades ago, when he'd found it standing over his father's cooling corpse, crushing the old man's heart in its hands.

It was far past time that the abomination be dealt with, authorization from Cassidy be damned. The Dawn had proven herself powerful and devoted to the cause of good. Neither he nor she would be able to kill the Slayer alone, but together, they could not fail...

**–Montreal–**

A black figure dashed through the dark streets of Montreal early in the morning, fleeing in desperate panic from the figure pursuing it. The figure cursed its luck, cursed its pursuer, and cursed the treachery of the Chosen of Endings that had set it up. He'd failed the Bishop due to this wretched war he'd been dragged into, he'd lost hundreds of vampires to the engine of destruction pursuing him, and now he was going to lose his life.

It was simply amazing how powerful his opponent was. His best tricks, his most lethal assaults had availed him _nothing_ against his foe. No matter how much damage he dished out, his enemy just soaked it up, sometimes _gaining power_ from the attacks.

A shadow burst out of the alley beside him, making him instinctively roll to the side, and he hit something solid. A hand reached down and picked him up by his throat, cold fire burning through flesh and muscle, and he knew he was going to die.

_"How?!"_ he choked out, as the fires burned towards his trachea, "How did you beat me so effortlessly?! How did you become so powerful, so fast?! You're not even half a century old!"

Green light lit up the alley as the fire around his neck spread up his scalp and face, burning into his mouth and nose and eyes. His last sight was of a grinning face and peroxide blond hair, and the last thing he heard was the British-accented voice responding:

"Because I'm the bloody Slayer, that's how."

With that, his foe tossed him down the alley and threw a deadly green fireball that struck the Midnight in midair, exploding and disintegrating the Abyssal Exalt.

With a swish of his long black trench-coat, the Infernal strode away from the blazing flames, silhouetted in green, whistling a merry tune as he wondered what time the next bus left for Sunnydale.

**–End Season One–**

**Not the Slayer you were expecting, huh? And if it was, don't tell me, my ego bruises easily. Seriously, though, did I fool you?**

**I really wish you people would acknowledge that you read this story. It's kind of discouraging to see people following me, yet not, you know, admitting you like the story through a review. And if you don't like the story? Tell me why! I'm not perfect, but I strive to improve! That's why I post this stuff: So I can become a better writer.**


	12. Chapter 12

Posting on discontinued due to lack of interest. Those who wish to continue following the story, do so on either Twisting the Hellmouth (author InDrk), or SpaceBattles, under Fenrir666. Sorry, but I have no interest in posting a story that gets so little attention.


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